THE  WORKS  OF 
EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 

VOLUME  VII 

Jfc 

LITERARY  CRITICISM 
II 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND 
TRAVELS  —  MARGINALIA 

EDITED  BY 

EDMUND  CLARENCE  STEDMAN 

AND 

GEORGE  EDWARD  WOODBERRY 


VOLUME  VII 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
1914 


COPYBIOHT,    1895,    BY 

STONE  &  KIMBALL 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS       ......  I 

COOPER'S  "WYANDOTTE"        ...     .......  3 

A    HAWTHORNE'S  "TALES"     ...........  23 

DICKENS'S  "BARNABT  RUDGE"    .........  48 

LEVER'S  "CHARLES  O'MALLET"  .........  81 

MARRYATT'S  "JOSEPH  RUSHBROOK"       .......  98 

BIRD'S  "THE  HAWKS  OF  HAWK-HOLLOW'*  AND  "SHEPPARD 

LEE"    ................  105 

SIMMS'S  "THE  WIGWAM  AND  THE  CABIN"    ......  114 

HENRY  COCKTON'S  "STANLEY  THORN"   .......  120 

"PETER  SNOOK"      .............  126 

WALSH'S  "DIDACTICS"       ...........  146 

MACAULAY'S  "ESSAYS"      ...........  152 

EDWIN  PERCY  WHIPPLE  AND  OTHER  CRITICS     .....  158 

HEADLEY'S    "THE  SACRED  MOUNTAINS"     ......  167 

STEPHENS'S  "ARABIA  PETRJEA"    .........  175 

"^    IRVING'S  "ASTORIA"     ............  205 

MARGINALIA  ...............  253 

NOTES  ,     .  .427 


790983 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PORTRAITS 

POE  AT  THE  AGE  OP  THIBTY-FIVE.  ENGRAVED  ON  STEEL 
FROM  A  PAINTING  BY  A.  C.  SMITH.  THIS  APPEARED  IN 
"GRAHAM'S  MAGAZINE,"  FEBRUARY,  1845  .  .  .  Frontispiece 

TO  FACE  PAGE 

FROM  A  DAGUERREOTYPE  FORMERLY  IN  THE  POSSESSION  OP 
THOMAS  H.  DAVIDSON 205 

REPRODUCTION 

FROM  A  PORTION  OF  THE  MANUSCRIPT  OP  "MARGINALIA"     .     256 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS, 
AND  TRAVELS 


COOPER'S  "WYANDOTTfi" 

WYANDOTTfi,  or  The  Hutted  Knoll," 
is,  in  its  general  features,  precisely 
similar  to  the  novels  enumerated  in  the  title.  It 
is  a  forest  subject;  and,  when  we  say  this,  we 
give  assurance  that  the  story  is  a  good  one;  for 
Mr.  Cooper  has  never  been  known  to  fail,  either 
in  the  forest  or  upon  the  sea.  The  interest,  as 
usual,  has  no  reference  to  plot,  of  which,  indeed, 
our  novelist  seems  altogether  regardless,  or  in- 
capable, but  depends,  first,  upon  the  nature  of 
the  theme;  secondly,  upon  a  Robinson-Crusoe- 
like  detail  in  its  management ;  and,  thirdly,  upon 
the  frequently  repeated  portraiture  of  the  half- 
civilized  Indian.  In  saying  that  the  interest  de- 
pends, first,  upon  the  nature  of  the  theme,  we 
mean  to  suggest  that  this  theme  —  life  in  the 
wilderness  —  is  one  of  intrinsic  and  universal  in- 
terest, appealing  to  the  heart  of  man  in  all 
phases ;  a  theme,  like  that  of  life  upon  the  ocean, 
so  unfailingly  omniprevalent  in  its  power  of 
arresting  and  absorbing  attention  that,  while  suc- 
cess or  popularity  is,  with  such  a  subject,  ex- 
pected as  a  matter  of  course,  a  failure  might  be 
properly  regarded  as  conclusive  evidence  of  im- 
3 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

becility  on  the  part  of  the  author.  The  two 
theses  in  question  have  been  handled  usque  ad 
nauseam  —  and  this  through  the  instinctive  per- 
ception of  the  universal  interest  which  appertains 
to  them.  A  writer,  distrustful  of  his  powers,  can 
scarcely  do  better  than  discuss  either  one  or  the 
other.  A  man  of  genius  will  rarely,  and  should 
never,  undertake  either:  first,  because  both  are 
excessively  hackneyed ;  and,  secondly,  because  the 
reader  never  fails,  in  forming  his  opinion  of  a 
book,  to  make  discount,  either  wittingly  or  un- 
wittingly, for  that  intrinsic  interest  which  is  in- 
separable from  the  subject  and  independent  of 
the  manner  in  which  it  is  treated.  Very  few, 
and  very  dull,  indeed,  are  those  who  do  not  in- 
stantaneously perceive  the  distinction;  and  thus 
there  are  two  great  classes  of  fictions :  a  popular 
and  widely  circulated  class,  read  with  pleasure 
but  without  admiration,  in  which  the  author  is 
lost  or  forgotten,  or  remembered,  if  at  all,  with 
something  very  nearly  akin  to  contempt;  and 
then,  a  class  not  so  popular  nor  so  widely  diffused, 
in  which  at  every  paragraph  arises  a  distinctive 
and  highly  pleasurable  interest,  springing  from 
our  perception  and  appreciation  of  the  skill  em- 
ployed or  the  genius  evinced  in  the  composition. 
After  perusal  of  the  one  class,  we  think  solely  of 
the  book;  after  reading  the  other,  chiefly  of  the 
author.  The  former  class  leads  to  popularity; 
the  latter  to  fame.  In  the  former  case,  the  books 


COOPER'S  "WYANDOTTE" 

sometimes  live,  while  the  authors  usually  die; 
in  the  latter,  even  when  the  works  perish,  the  man 
survives.  Among  American  writers  of  the  less 
generally  circulated,  but  more  worthy  and  more 
artistical  fictions,  we  may  mention  Mr.  Brockden 
Brown,  Mr.  John  Neal,  Mr.  Simms,  Mr.  Haw- 
thorne ;  at  the  head  of  the  more  popular  division 
we  may  place  Mr.  Cooper. 

"  The  Hutted  Knoll,"  without  pretending  to 
detail  facts,  gives  a  narrative  of  fictitious  events, 
similar,  in  nearly  all  respects,  to  occurrences 
which  actually  happened  during  the  opening 
scenes  of  the  Revolution,  and  at  other  epochs  of 
our  history.  It  pictures  the  dangers,  difficulties, 
and  distresses  of  a  large  family,  living,  com- 
pletely insulated,  in  the  forest.  The  tale  com- 
mences with  a  description  of  the  "  region  which 
lies  in  the  angle  formed  by  the  junction  of  the 
Mohawk  with  the  Hudson,  extending  as  far  south 
as  the  line  of  Pennsylvania,  and  west  to  the  verge 
of  that  vast  rolling  plain  which  composes  West- 
ern New  York  "  •• —  a  region  of  which  the  novelist 
has  already  frequently  written,  and  the  whole  of 
which,  with  a  trivial  exception,  was  a  wilderness 
before  the  Revolution.  Within  this  district,  and 
on  a  creek  running  into  the  Unadilla,  a  certain 
Captain  Willoughby  purchases  an  estate  or 
"  patent,"  and  there  retires,  with  his  family  and 
dependents,  to  pass  the  close  of  his  life  in  agri- 
cultural pursuits.  He  has  been  an  officer  in  the 
5 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

British  army,  but,  after  serving  many  years,  has 
sold  his  commission,  and  purchased  one  for  his 
only  son,  Robert,  who  alone  does  not  accompany 
the  party  into  the  forest.  This  party  consists 
of  the  captain  himself;  his  wife;  his  daughter, 
Beulah;  an  adopted  daughter,  Maud  Meredith; 
an  invalid  sergeant,  Joyce,  who  had  served  un- 
der the  captain;  a  Presbyterian  preacher,  Mr. 
Woods;  a  Scotch  mason,  Jamie  Allen;  an  Irish 
laborer,  Michael  O'Hearn;  a  Connecticut  man, 
Joel  Strides;  four  negroes,  old  Plin  and  young 
Plin,  Big  Smash  and  Little  Smash;  eight  axe- 
men; a  house-carpenter;  a  millwright,  etc.,  etc. 
Besides  these,  a  Tuscarora  Indian  called  Nick, 
or  Wyandotte,  accompanies  the  expedition.  This 
Indian,  who  figures  largely  in  the  story,  and 
gives  it  its  title,  may  be  considered  as  the  prin- 
cipal character  —  the  one  chiefly  elaborated.  He 
is  an  outcast  from  his  tribe,  has  been  known  to 
Captain  Willoughby  for  thirty  years,  and  is  a 
compound  of  all  the  good  and  bad  qualities  which 
make  up  the  character  of  the  half -civilized  In- 
dian. He  does  not  remain  with  the  settlers; 
but  appears  and  reappears  at  intervals  upon  the 
scene. 

Nearly  the  whole  of  the  first  volume  is  occupied 
with  a  detailed  account  of  the  estate  purchased 
(which  is  termed  "  The  Hutted  Knoll,"  from 
a  natural  mound  upon  which  the  principal  house 
is  built),  and  of  the  progressive  arrangements 
6 


COOPER'S  "WYANDOTTE" 

and  improvements.  Toward  the  close  of  the 
volume  the  Revolution  commences ;  and  the  party 
at  the  "  Knoll "  are  besieged  by  a  band  of  savages 
and  "rebels,"  with  whom  an  understanding 
exists,  on  the  part  of  Joel  Strides,  the  Yankee. 
This  traitor,  instigated  by  the  hope  of  possess- 
ing Captain  Willoughby's  estate,  should  it  be 
confiscated,  brings  about  a  series  of  defections 
from  the  party  of  the  settlers,  and  finally,  desert- 
ing himself,  reduces  the  whole  number  to  six  or 
seven,  capable  of  bearing  arms.  Captain  Wil- 
loughby  resolves,  however,  to  defend  his  post. 
His  son,  at  this  juncture,  pays  him  a  clandes- 
tine visit,  and,  endeavoring  to  reconnoitre  the 
position  of  the  Indians,  is  made  captive.  The 
Captain,  in  an  attempt  at  rescue,  is  murdered  by 
Wyandotte,  whose  vindictive  passions  had  been 
aroused  by  ill-timed  allusions  on  the  part  of  Wil- 
loughby  to  floggings  previously  inflicted  by  his 
orders  upon  the  Indian.  Wyandotte,  however, 
having  satisfied  his  personal  vengeance,  is  still  the 
ally  of  the  settlers.  He  guides  Maud,  who  is  be- 
loved by  Robert,  to  the  hut  in  which  the  latter  is 
confined,  and  effects  his  escape.  Aroused  by  this 
escape,  the  Indians  precipitate  their  attack  upon 
the  Knoll,  which,  through  the  previous  treachery 
of  Strides  in  ill-hanging  a  gate,  is  immediately 
carried.  Mrs.  Willoughby,  Beulah,  and  others 
of  the  party  are  killed.  Maud  is  secreted,  and 
thus  saved,  by  Wyandotte.  At  the  last  moment, 
7 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

when  all  is  apparently  lost,  a  reinforcement  ap- 
pears, under  command  of  Evert  Beekman,  the 
husband  of  Beulah;  and  the  completion  of  the 
massacre  is  prevented.  Woods,  the  preacher, 
had  left  the  knoll,  and  made  his  way  through  the 
enemy,  to  inform  Beekman  of  the  dilemma  of 
his  friends.  Maud  and  Robert  Willoughby  are, 
of  course,  happily  married.  The  concluding 
scene  of  the  novel  shows  us  Wyandotte  repent- 
ing the  murder  of  Willoughby  and  converted  to 
Christianity  through  the  agency  of  Woods. 

It  will  be  at  once  seen  that  there  is  nothing 
original  in  this  story.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  even 
excessively  commonplace.  The  lover,  for  ex- 
ample, rescued  from  captivity  by  the  mistress; 
the  Knoll  carried  through  the  treachery  of  an 
inmate ;  and  the  salvation  of  the  besieged,  at  the 
very  last  moment,  by  a  reinforcement  arriving, 
in  consequence  of  a  message  borne  to  a  friend  by 
one  of  the  besieged,  without  the  cognizance  of 
the  others;  these,  we  say,  are  incidents  which 
have  been  the  common  property  of  every  novelist 
since  the  invention  of  letters.  And  as  for  plot, 
there  has  been  no  attempt  at  anything  of  the 
kind.  The  tale  is  a  mere  succession  of  events, 
scarcely  any  one  of  which  has  any  necessary  de- 
pendence upon  any  one  other.  Plot,  however, 
is  at  best  an  artificial  effect,  requiring,  like  music, 
not  only  a  natural  bias,  but  long  cultivation  of 
taste  for  its  full  appreciation;  some  of  the 
8 


COOPER'S  "WYANDOTTE" 

finest  narratives  in  the  world  —  "  Gil-Bias  "  and 
"  Robinson  Crusoe,"  for  example  —  have  been 
written  without  its  employment ;  and  "  The 
Hutted  Knoll,"  like  all  the  sea  and  forest  novels 
of  Cooper,  has  been  made  deeply  interesting,  al- 
though depending  upon  this  peculiar  source  of 
interest  not  at  all.  Thus  the  absence  of  plot  can 
never  be  critically  regarded  as  a  defect;  although 
its  judicious  use,  in  all  cases  aiding  and  in  no 
case  injuring  other  effects,  must  be  regarded  as 
of  a  very  high  order  of  merit. 

There  are  one  or  two  points,  however,  in  the 
mere  conduct  of  the  story  now  before  us,  which 
may,  perhaps,  be  considered  as  defective.  For 
instance,  there  is  too  much  obviousness  in  all  that 
appertains  to  the  hanging  of  the  large  gate.  In 
more  than  a  dozen  instances,  Mrs.  Willoughby 
is  made  to  allude  to  the  delay  in  the  hanging;  so 
that  the  reader  is  too  positively  and  pointedly 
forced  to  perceive  that  this  delay  is  to  result  in 
the  capture  of  the  Knoll.  As  we  are  never  in 
doubt  of  the  fact,  we  feel  diminished  interest 
when  it  actually  happens.  A  single  vague  allu- 
sion, well  managed,  would  have  been  in  the  true 
artistical  spirit. 

Again:  we  see  too  plainly,  from  the  first,  that 
Beekman  is  to  marry  Beulah,  and  that  Robert 
Willoughby  is  to  marry  Maud.  The  killing  of 
Beulah,  of  Mrs.  Willoughby,  and  Jamie  Allen, 
produces,  too,  a  painful  impression,  which  does 
9 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

not  properly  appertain  to  the  right  fiction.  Their 
deaths  affect  us  as  revolting  and  supererogatory; 
since  the  purposes  of  the  story  are  not  thereby 
furthered  in  any  regard.  To  Willoughby's  mur- 
der, however  distressing,  the  reader  makes  no 
similar  objection;  merely  because  in  his  decease 
is  fulfilled  a  species  of  poetical  justice.  We  may 
observe  here,  nevertheless,  that  his  repeated  refer- 
ences to  his  flogging  the  Indian  seem  unnatural, 
because  we  have  otherwise  no  reason  to  think 
him  a  fool  or  a  madman,  and  these  references 
under  the  circumstances  are  absolutely  insensate. 
We  object,  also,  to  the  manner  in  which  the  gen- 
eral interest  is  dragged  out  or  suspended.  The 
besieging  party  are  kept  before  the  Knoll  so 
long,  while  so  little  is  done  and  so  many  oppor- 
tunities of  action  are  lost,  that  the  reader  takes 
it  for  granted  that  nothing  of  consequence  will 
occur  —  that  the  besieged  will  be  finally  de- 
livered. He  gets  so  accustomed  to  the  presence 
of  danger  that  its  excitement  at  length  departs. 
The  action  is  not  sufficiently  rapid.  There  is  too 
much  procrastination.  There  is  too  much  mere 
talk  for  talk's  sake.  The  interminable  discussions 
between  Woods  and  Captain  Willoughby  are, 
perhaps,  the  worst  feature  of  the  book,  for  they 
have  not  even  the  merit  of  referring  to  the  mat- 
ters on  hand.  In  general,  there  is  quite  too  much 
colloquy  for  the  purpose  of  manifesting  charac- 
ter, and  too  little  for  the  explanation  of  motive. 
10 


COOPER'S  "  iWYANDOTTE  " 

The  characters  of  the  drama  would  have  been 
better  made  out  by  action;  while  the  motives  to 
action,  the  reasons  for  the  different  courses  of 
conduct  adopted  by  the  dramatis  persona?,  might 
have  been  made  to  proceed  more  satisfactorily 
from  their  own  mouths  in  casual  conversations 
than  from  that  of  the  author  in  person.  To  con- 
clude our  remarks  upon  the  head  of  ill-conduct 
in  the  story,  we  may  mention  occasional  inci- 
dents of  the  merest  melodramatic  absurdity;  asr 
for  example,  at  page  156,  of  the  second  volume, 
where  "  Willoughby  had  an  arm  round  the  waist 
of  Maud,  and  bore  her  forward  with  a  rapidity 
to  which  her  own  strength  was  entirely  unequal." 
We  may  be  permitted  to  doubt  whether  a  young 
lady,  of  sound  health  and  limbs,  exists,  within 
the  limits  of  Christendom,  who  could  not  run 
faster,  on  her  own  proper  feet,  for  any  consider- 
able distance,  than  she  could  be  carried  upon  one 
arm  of  either  the  Cretan  Milo  or  of  the  Hercules 
Farnese. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  would  be  easy  to  des- 
ignate many  particulars  which  are  admirably 
handled.  The  love  of  Maud  Meredith  for  Robert 
Willoughby  is  painted  with  exquisite  skill  and 
truth.  The  incident  of  the  tress  of  hair  and  box 
is  naturally  and  effectively  conceived.  A  fine 
collateral  interest  is  thrown  over  the  whole  nar- 
rative by  the  connection  of  the  theme  with  that 
of  the  Revolution;  and,  especially,  there  is  an 
11 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

excellent  dramatic  point,  at  page  124  of  the  sec- 
ond volume,  where  Wyandotte,  remembering  the 
stripes  inflicted  upon  him  by  Captain  Wil- 
loughby,  is  about  to  betray  him  to  his  foes,  when 
his  purpose  is  arrested  by  a  casual  glimpse, 
through  the  forest,  of  the  hut  which  contains 
Mrs.  Willoughby,  who  had  preserved  the  life  of 
the  Indian  by  inoculation  for  the  small-pox. 

In  the  depicting  of  character,  Mr.  Cooper  has 
been  unusually  successful  in  "  Wyandotte."  One 
or  two  of  his  personages,  to  be  sure,  must  be  re- 
garded as  little  worth.  Robert  Willoughby,  like 
most  novel  heroes,  is  a  nobody;  that  is  to  say, 
there  is  nothing  about  him  which  may  be  looked 
upon  as  distinctive.  Perhaps  he  is  rather  silly 
than  otherwise;  as,  for  instance,  when  he  con- 
fuses all  his  father's  arrangements  for  his  con- 
cealment, and  bursts  into  the  room  before  Strides 
—  afterward  insisting  upon  accompanying  that 
person  to  the  Indian  encampment,  without  any 
possible  or  impossible  object.  Woods,  the  par- 
son, is  a  sad  bore,  upon  the  Dominie  Sampson 
plan,  and  is,  moreover,  caricatured.  Of  Cap- 
tain Willoughby  we  have  already  spoken  —  he 
is  too  often  on  stilts.  Evert  Beekman  and 
Beulah  are  merely  episodical.  Joyce  is  nothing 
in  the  world  but  Corporal  Trim  —  or  rather, 
Corporal  Trim  and  water.  Jamie  Allen,  with 
his  prate  about  Catholicism  is  insufferable.  But 
Mrs.  Willoughby,  the  humble,  shrinking,  wo- 
12 


COOPER'S  "WYANDOTTE" 

manly  wife,  whose  whole  existence  centres  in  her 
affections,  is  worthy  of  Mr.  Cooper.  Maud 
Meredith  is  still  better.  In  fact,  we  know  no 
female  portraiture,  even  in  Scott,  which  sur- 
passes her;  and  yet  the  world  has  been  given 
to  understand,  by  the  enemies  of  the  novelist, 
that  he  is  incapable  of  depicting  a  woman.  Joel 
Strides  will  be  recognized  by  all  who  are  con- 
versant with  his  general  prototypes  of  Con- 
necticut. Michael  O'Hearn,  the  County  Leit- 
rim  man,  is  an  Irishman  all  over,  and  his  por- 
traiture abounds  in  humor;  as,  for  example,  at 
page  31,  of  the  first  volume,  where  he  has  a 
difficulty  with  a  skiff,  not  being  able  to  account 
for  its  revolving  upon  its  own  axis,  instead  of 
moving  forward!  or,  at  page  132,  where,  during 
divine  service,  to  exclude  at  least  a  portion  of 
the  heretical  doctrine,  he  stops  one  of  his  ears 
with  his  thumb;  or,  at  page  195,  where  a  passage 
occurs  so  much  to  our  purpose  that  we  will  be 
pardoned  for  quoting  it  in  full.  Captain  Wil- 
loughby  is  drawing  his  son  up  through  a  window, 
from  his  enemies  below.  The  assistants,  placed 
at  a  distance  from  this  window  to  avoid  observa- 
tion from  without,  are  ignorant  of  what  burden 
is  at  the  end  of  the  rope :  — 

"  The  men  did  as  ordered,  raising  their  load  from  the 
ground  a  foot  or  two  at  a  time.  In  this  manner  the  bur- 
den approached,  yard  after  yard,  until  it  was  evidently 
drawing  near  the  window. 

13 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

"  '  It 's  the  captain  hoisting  up  the  big  baste  of  a  hog, 
for  provisioning  the  hoose  again  a  saige,'  whispered 
Mike  to  the  negroes,  who  grinned  as  they  tugged ;  '  and 
when  the  craitur  squails,  see  to  it  that  ye  do  not  squail 
yourselves.'  At  that  moment  the  head  and  shoulders 
of  a  man  appeared  at  the  window.  Mike  let  go  the 
rope,  seized  a  chair,  and  was  about  to  knock  the  in- 
truder upon  the  head;  but  the  captain  arrested  the 
blow. 

"  *  It 's  one  o'  the  vagabone  In j  ins  that  has  under- 
mined the  hog  and  come  up  in  its  stead,'  roared  Mike. 

"  *  It 's  my  son,'  said  the  captain ;  *  see  that  you  are 
silent  and  secret.'  " 

The  negroes  are,  without  exception,  admira- 
bly drawn.  The  Indian,  Wyandotte,  however, 
is  the  great  feature  of  the  book,  and  is,  in  every 
respect,  equal  to  the  previous  Indian  creations 
of  the  author  of  "  The  Pioneer."  Indeed,  we 
think  this  "  forest  gentleman  "  superior  to  the 
other  noted  heroes  of  his  kind  —  the  heroes 
which  have  been  immortalized  by  our  novelist. 
His  keen  sense  of  the  distinction,  in  his  own 
character,  between  the  chief,  Wyandotte,  and 
the  drunken  vagabond,  Sassy  Nick;  his  chival- 
rous delicacy  toward  Maud,  in  never  disclosing 
to  her  that  knowledge  of  her  real  feelings  toward 
Robert  Willoughby  which  his  own  Indian  intui- 
tion had  discovered;  his  enduring  animosity  to- 
ward Captain  Willoughby,  softened,  and  for 
thirty  years  delayed,  through  his  gratitude  to 
the  wife ;  and  then,  the  vengeance  consummated, 
14 


COOPER'S  "  WYANDOTTE  " 

his  pity  for  that  wife  conflicting  with  his  exulta- 
tion at  the  deed  —  these,  we  say,  are  all  traits  of 
a  lofty  excellence  indeed.  Perhaps  the  most 
effective  passage  in  the  book,  and  that  which 
most  distinctively  brings  out  the  character  of 
the  Tuscarora,  is  to  be  found  at  pages  50,  51, 
52,  and  53  of  the  second  volume,  where,  for  some 
trivial  misdemeanor,  the  captain  threatens  to 
make  use  of  the  whip.  The  manner  in  which 
the  Indian  harps  upon  the  threat,  returning  to 
it  again  and  again,  in  every  variety  of  phrase, 
forms  one  of  the  finest  pieces  of  mere  charac- 
ter-painting with  which  we  have  any  acquain- 
tance. 

The  most  obvious  and  most  unaccountable 
faults  of  "  The  Hutted  Knoll "  are  those  which 
appertain  to  the  style,  to  the  mere  grammatical 
construction;  for,  in  other  and  more  important 
particulars  of  style,  Mr.  Cooper,  of  late  days, 
has  made  a  very  manifest  improvement.  His 
sentences,  however,  are  arranged  with  an  awk- 
wardness so  remarkable  as  to  be  matter  of  ab- 
solute astonishment,  when  we  consider  the  edu- 
cation of  the  author  and  his  long  and  continual 
practice  with  the  pen.  In  minute  descriptions 
of  localities,  any  verbal  inaccuracy  or  confusion 
becomes  a  source  of  vexation  and  misunderstand- 
ing, detracting  very  much  from  the  pleasure  of 
perusal;  and  in  these  inaccuracies  "  Wyan- 
dotte"  abounds.  Although,  for  instance,  we 
15 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

carefully  read  and  re-read  that  portion  of  the 
narrative  which  details  the  situation  of  the  Knoll 
and  the  construction  of  the  buildings  and  walls 
about  it,  we  were  forced  to  proceed  with  the  story 
without  any  exact  or  definite  impressions  upon 
the  subject.  Similar  difficulties  from  similar 
causes  occur  passim  throughout  the  book.  For 
example,  at  page  41,  vol.  i. : 

"  The  Indian  gazed  at  the  house,  with  that 
fierce  intentness  which  sometimes  glared,  in  a 
manner  that  had  got  to  be,  in  its  ordinary  as- 
pects, dull  and  besotted."  This  it  is  utterly  im- 
possible to  comprehend.  We  presume,  however, 
the  intention  is  to  say  that  although  the  Indian's 
ordinary  manner  (of  gazing)  had  "  got  to  be  " 
dull  and  besotted,  he  occasionally  gazed  with  an 
intentness  that  glared,  and  that  he  did  so  in  the 
instance  in  question.  The  "  got  to  be  "  is  atro- 
cious —  the  whole  sentence  no  less  so. 

Here  at  page  9,  vol.  i.,  is  something  exces- 
sively vague :  "Of  the  latter  character  is  the 
face  of  most  of  that  region  which  lies  in  the 
angle  formed  by  the  junction  of  the  Mohawk 
with  the  Hudson,"  etc.,  etc.  The  Mohawk,  join- 
ing the  Hudson,  forms  two  angles,  of  course,  an 
acute  and  an  obtuse  one;  and,  without  farther 
explanation,  it  is  difficult  to  say  which  is  in- 
tended. 

At  page  55,  vol.  i.,  we  read :  —  "  The  captain, 
owing  to  his  English  education,  had  avoided 
16 


COOPER'S  "  WYANDOTTE  " 

straight  lines,  and  formal  paths;  giving  to  the 
little  spot  the  improvement  on  nature  which  is  a 
consequence  of  embellishing  her  works  without 
destroying  them.  On  each  side  of  this  lawn  was 
an  orchard,  thrifty  and  young,  and  which  were 
already  beginning  to  show  signs  of  putting  forth 
their  blossoms."  Here  we  are  tautologically 
informed  that  improvement  is  a  consequence  of 
embellishment,  and  supererogatorily  told  that 
the  rule  holds  good  only  where  the  embellish- 
ment is  not  accompanied  by  destruction.  Upon 
the  "  each  orchard  were  "  it  is  needless  to  com- 
ment. 

At  page  30,  vol.  i.,  is  something  similar,  where 
Strides  is  represented  as  "  never  doing  anything 
that  required  a  particle  more  than  the  exertion 
and  strength  that  were  absolutely  necessary  to 
effect  his  object."  Did  Mr.  Cooper  ever  hear 
of  any  labor  that  required  more  exertion  than 
was  necessary?  He  means  to  say  that  Strides 
exerted  himself  no  farther  than  was  necessary 
—  that's  all. 

At  page  59,  vol.  i.,  we  find  this  sentence  — 
"  He  was  advancing  by  the  only  road  that  was 
ever  travelled  by  the  stranger  as  he  approached 
the  Hut;  or,  he  came  up  the  valley."  This 
is  merely  a  vagueness  of  speech.  "  Or  "  is  in- 
tended to  imply  "  that  is  to  say."  The  whole 
would  be  clearer  thus  —  "  He  was  advancing  by 
the  valley — the  only  road  travelled  by  a  stranger 
17 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

approaching  the  Hut."  We  have  here  sixteen 
words,  instead  of  Mr.  Cooper's  twenty-five. 

At  page  8,  vol.  ii.,  is  an  unpardonable  awk- 
wardness, although  an  awkwardness  strictly 
grammatical.  "  I  was  a  favorite,  I  believe,  with, 
certainly  was  much  petted  by,  both."  Upon 
this  we  need  make  no  farther  observation.  It 
speaks  for  itself. 

We  are  aware,  however,  that  there  is  a  cer- 
tain air  of  unfairness,  in  thus  quoting  detached 
passages  for  animadversion  of  this  kind;  for, 
however  strictly  at  random  our  quotations  may 
really  be,  we  have,  of  course,  no  means  of  prov- 
ing the  fact  to  our  readers;  and  there  are  no 
authors,  from  whose  works  individual  inaccurate 
sentences  may  not  be  culled.  But  we  mean  to 
say  that  Mr.  Cooper,  no  doubt  through  haste  or 
neglect,  is  remarkably  and  especially  inaccurate, 
as  a  general  rule ;  and,  by  way  of  demonstrating 
this  assertion,  we  will  dismiss  our  extracts  at 
random,  and  discuss  some  entire  page  of  his  com- 
position. More  than  this:  we  will  endeavor  to 
select  that  particular  page  upon  which  it  might 
naturally  be  supposed  he  would  bestow  the  most 
careful  attention.  The  reader  will  say  at  once 
—  "  Let  this  be  his  first  page  —  the  first  page  of 
his  Preface."  This  page,  then,  shall  be  taken  of 
course. 

"  The  history  of  the  borders  is  filled  with  legends  of 
the  sufferings  of  isolated  families,  during  the  troubled 
18 


COOPER'S  "WYANDOTTE" 

scenes  of  colonial  warfare.  Those  which  we  now  offer 
to  the  reader  are  distinctive  in  many  of  their  leading 
facts,  if  not  rigidly  true  in  the  details.  The  first  alone 
is  necessary  to  the  legitimate  objects  of  fiction." 

"Abounds  with  legends,"  would  be  better 
than  "  is  filled  with  legends;  "  for  it  is  clear  that 
if  the  history  were  filled  with  legends,  it  would 
be  all  legend  and  no  history.  The  word  "  of," 
too,  occurs,  in  the  first  sentence,  with  an  un- 
pleasant frequency.  The  "  those  "  commencing 
the  second  sentence,  grammatically  refers  to  the 
noun  "  scenes,"  immediately  preceding,  but  is 
intended  for  "  legends."  The  adjective  "  dis- 
tinctive "  is  vaguely  and  altogether  improperly 
employed.  Mr.  Cooper,  we  believe,  means  to 
say,  merely,  that,  although  the  details  of  his 
legends  may  not  be  strictly  true,  facts  similar 
to  his  leading  ones  have  actually  occurred.  By 
use  of  the  word  "  distinctive,"  however,  he  has 
contrived  to  convey  a  meaning  nearly  converse. 
In  saying  that  his  legend  is  "distinctive"  in 
many  of  the  leading  facts,  he  has  said  what  he, 
clearly,  did  not  wish  to  say,  viz. :  that  his  legend 
contained  facts  which  distinguished  it  from  all 
other  legends  —  in  other  words,  facts  never  be- 
fore discussed  in  other  legends  and  belonging 
peculiarly  to  his  own.  That  Mr.  Cooper  did 
mean  what  we  suppose,  is  rendered  evident  by 
the  third  sentence  —  "  The  first  alone  is  neces- 
sary to  the  legitimate  objects  of  fiction."  This 
19 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

third  sentence  itself,  however,  is  very  badly  con- 
structed. "  The  first  "  can  refer,  grammatically, 
only  to  "facts;"  but  no  such  reference  is  in- 
tended. If  we  ask  the  question  —  what  is  meant 
by  "the  first?"  —  what  "alone  is  necessary  to 
the  legitimate  objects  of  fiction?  "  —  the  natural 
reply  is  "  that  facts  similar  to  the  leading  ones 
have  actually  happened."  This  circumstance  is 
alone  to  be  cared  for  —  this  consideration  "  alone 
is  necessary  to  the  legitimate  objects  of  fiction." 
"  One  of  the  misfortunes  of  a  nation  is  to  hear 
nothing  besides  its  own  praises."  This  is  the 
fourth  sentence,  and  is  by  no  means  lucid.  The 
design  is  to  say  that  individuals  composing  a 
nation,  and  living  altogether  within  the  national 
bounds,  hear  from  each  other  only  praises  of 
the  nation,  and  that  this  is  a  misfortune  to  the 
individuals,  since  it  misleads  them  in  regard  to 
the  actual  condition  of  the  nation.  Here  it  will 
be  seen  that,  to  convey  the  intended  idea,  we 
have  been  forced  to  make  distinction  between 
the  nation  and  its  individual  members ;  for  it  is 
evident  that  a  nation  is  considered  as  such  only 
in  reference  to  other  nations;  and  thus  as  a  na- 
tion, it  hears  very  much  "besides  its  own 
praises ; "  that  is  to  say,  it  hears  the  detractions 
of  other  rival  nations.  In  endeavoring  to  com- 
pel his  meaning  within  the  compass  of  a  brief 
sentence,  Mr.  Cooper  has  completely  sacrificed 
its  intelligibility. 

20 


COOPER'S  "WYANDOTTE" 

The  fifth  sentence  runs  thus :  —  "  Although 
the  American  Revolution  was  probably  as  just 
an  effort  as  was  ever  made  by  a  people  to  re- 
sist the  first  inroads  of  oppression,  the  cause 
had  its  evil  aspects,  as  well  as  all  other  human 
struggles." 

The  American  Revolution  is  here  improperly 
called  an  "  effort."  The  effort  was  the  cause, 
of  which  the  Revolution  was  the  result.  A  re- 
bellion is  an  "  effort "  to  effect  a  revolution. 
An  "  inroad  of  oppression  "  involves  an  untrue 
metaphor;  for  "inroad"  appertains  to  aggres- 
sion, to  attack,  to  active  assault.  "  The  cause 
its  evil  aspects,  but  had,  also,  all  other  human 
struggles,"  implies  that  the  cause  had  not  only 
its  evil  aspects,  but  had,  also,  all  other  liuman 
struggles.  If  the  words  must  be  retained  at  all, 
they  should  be  thus  arranged  —  "  The  cause  like 
[or  as  well  as]  all  other  human  struggles,  had 
its  evil  aspects;"  or  better  thus  —  "The  cause 
had  its  evil  aspect,  as  have  all  human  struggles." 
"  Other  "  is  superfluous. 

The  sixth  sentence  is  thus  written;  —  "We 
have  been  so  much  accustomed  to  hear  every- 
thing extolled,  of  late  years,  that  could  be 
dragged  into  the  remotest  connection  with  that 
great  event,  and  the  principles  which  led  to  it, 
that  there  is  danger  of  overlooking  truth  in  a 
pseudo-patriotism."  The  "  of  late  years,"  here, 
should  follow  the  "accustomed,"  or  precede 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

the  "  We  have  been;  "  and  the  Greek  "  pseudo  " 
is  objectionable,  since  its  exact  equivalent  is  to 
be  found  in  the  English  "  false."  "  Spurious  " 
would  be  better,  perhaps,  than  either. 

Inadvertences  such  as  these  sadly  disfigure 
the  style  of  "The  Hutted  Knoll;"  and  every 
true  friend  of  its  author  must  regret  his  inatten- 
tion to  the  minor  morals  of  the  Muse.  But  these 
"  minor  morals,"  it  may  be  said,  are  trifles  at 
best.  Perhaps  so.  At  all  events,  we  should 
never  have  thought  of  dwelling  so  pertinaciously 
upon  the  unessential  demerits  of  "  Wyandotte," 
could  we  have  discovered  any  more  momentous 
upon  which  to  comment. 


HAWTHORNE'S  "  TALES  " 


THE  reputation  of  the  author  of  "Twice- 
Told  Tales  "  has  been  confined,  until  very 
lately,  to  literary  society;  and  I  have  not  been 
wrong,  perhaps,  in  citing^him^ag^feg  example, 
par  excellence,  in  this  country,  of  the  privately- 
admirecT  and"publicly-unappreciated  man  of 
genius.  Within  the  last  year  or  two,  it  is  true, 
an  occasional  critic  has  been  urged,  by  honest 
indignation,  into  very  warm  approval.  Mr. 
Webber,  for  instance  (than  whom  no  one  has  a 
keener  relish  for  that  kind  of  writing  which  Mr. 
Hawthorne  has  best  illustrated),  gave  us,  in  a 
late  number  of  the  "American  Review,"  a 
cordial  and  certainly  a  full  tribute  to  his  talents ; 
and  since  the  issue  of  the  "Mosses  from  an 
Old  Manse  "  criticisms  of  similar  tone  have  been 
by  no  means  infrequent  in  our  more  authorita- 
tive journals.  I  can  call  to  mind  few  reviews 
of  Hawthorne  published  before  the  "Mosses." 
One  I  remember  in  "Arcturus"  (edited  by 
Mathews  and  Duyckinck)  for  May,  1841; 
another  in  the  "American  Monthly"  (edited 
by  Hoffman  and  Herbert)  for  March,  1838;  a 
23 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

third  in  the  ninety-sixth  number  of  the  "  North 
American  Review."  These  criticisms,  however, 
seemed  to  have  little  effect  on  the  popular  taste; 
at  least,  if  we  are  to  form  any  idea  of  the  popu- 
lar taste  by  reference  to  its  expression  in  the 
newspapers,  or  by  the  sale  of  the  author's  book. 
It  .was  never  the  fashion  (until  lately)  to  speak 
of  him  in  any  summary  of  our  best  authors. 

The  daily  critics  would  say,  on  such  occasions, 
"  Is  there  not  Irving  and  Cooper,  and  Bryant, 
and  Paulding,  and — Smith?"  or,  "Have  we 
not  Halleck  and  Dana,  and  Longfellow,  and  — 
Thompson? "  or,  "  Can  we  not  point  trium- 
phantly to  our  own  Sprague,  Willis,  Charming, 
Bancroft,  Prescott  and  —  Jenkins?"  but  these 
unanswerable  queries  were  never  wound  up  by 
the  name  of  Hawthorne. 

JEeyond  doubt,  this  inappreciation  of  him  on 
the  part  of  the  public  arose  chiefly  from  the  two 
causes  to  which  I  have  referred  —  from  the  facts 
that  he  is  neither  a  man  of  wealth  nor  a  quack; 
but  these  are  insufficient  to  account  for  the  whole 
effect.  No  small  portion  ^f  it  is  attributable  to 
j>  the  very  marked  ^diosyncrasy^TDf  Mr.  Haw- 
thorne  himself.  In  one  sense,  and  in  great  mea- 
sure? jj^j»e^^ci3iajr|s  to  be  original,  and"than 
iere  is  ncMiigher ^literary 


or  commendable^originality, 


__ 

hgwgverTjmplies  not  the  uniform^  but  the  coh- 
tinuous^peculiarityjf- 

JUJ-   "< 


HAWTHORNE'S  "  TALES  " 

from  ever-actiyejdgor  of  jfgri^ — 

from  ever-present  force  of  fin^fjrinttljpg,  giving 

its  own  hue,  its^own  character,  to  everything  it 

touches,  and,  especially,  se^mgeftefl,  fa  touch  -{ 

e^er^thmg. 

It  is  often  said,  inconsiderately,  that  very 
original  writers  always  fail  in  popularity,  that 
such_and  such  persons  are  too  original  to  T)e 
comprehended  by  the  mass.  "  Too  peculiar," 
should  be  the  phrase,  "  too  idiosyncratic."  It 
is,  in  fact,  the  excitable,  undisciplined,  and  child- 
like popular  mind^  which  most  keenly  feels  the 
original. 

The  criticism  of  the  conservatives,  of  the 
hackneys,  of  the  cultivated  old  clergymen  of 
the  "  North  American  Review,"  is  precisely  the 
criticism  which  condemns,  and  alone  condemns 
it.  "  It  becometh  not  a  divine,"  saith  Lord 
Coke,  "  to  be  of  a  fiery  and  salamandrine  spirit." 
Their  conscience  allowing  them  to  move  nothing 
themselves,jthese  dignitaries  have  a  holy  horror 
of  being  moved.  "  Give  us  quietude"  they  say. 
Opening  their  mouths  with  proper  caution,  they 
sigh  forth  the  word  "Repose"  And  this  is, 
indeed,  the  one  thing  they  should  be  permitted 
to  enjoy,  if  only  upon  the  Christian  principle 
of  give  and  take. 

The  fact  is,  that  if  Mr.   Hawthorne  were 
really  original,  he  could  not  fail  of  making  him- 
self felt  by  the  public.    But  the  fact  is,  he  is 
25 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

Vfevj  \ngt  original  in  any  sense.  Those  who  speak  of 
him  as  original  mean  nothing  more  than  that 
He  differs  in  his  manner  or  tone,  and  in  his 
choice  of  subjects,  from  any  author  of  their  ac- 
quaintance—  their  acquaintance  not  extending 
to  the  German  Tieck,  whose  manner,  in  some 
of  his  works,  is  absolutely  identical  with  that 
X*  habitual  to  Hawthorne. J  But  it  is  clear  that  the 
i  element  of  the  Ijterary  originality  is  novelty,) 
The  element  of  its  appreciation  by  the  reader 
is  the  reader's  .sfffl«*  ^^foejiew.  Whatever  gives 
him  a  new,  and,  insomuch,  a. pleasurable  ^mo- 
tioh^  Tie  considers  original ;  and  whoever  fre- 
qijgntly^ve^Tiim^uch  emotion,  he  considers  an 
original  writer.  ^JEn  a  word,  it  is  by  the  sum  to- 
taToFthese  emotions  that  he  decides  upon  the 
writer's  cTaimTTxTT)]^^  I~may  observe 

here,  however,  that  there  is  clearly  a  point  at 
which  even  novelty  itself  would  cease  to  produce 
the  legitimate  originality,  if  we  judge  this  orig- 
mality,_as^  we  should,  by  the  effect  designed;  this 
point  is  that  at  which  novelty  becomes  nothing 
novel,  and  here  the  artist,  to  preserve  Tws_Qrjg- 
inattty,  will^subside  into  the  commonplace.  No 
one,  I  think,  has  noticed  that,  merely  through 
inattention  to  this  matter,  Moore  has  compara- 
tively failed  in  his  "  Lalla  Rookh."  Few  readers, 
and  indeed  few  critics,  have  commended  this 
poem  for  originality  —  and,  in  fact,  the  effect, 
originality,  is  not  produced  by  it;  yet  no  work 
26 


HAWTHORNE'S   "TALES" 

of  equal  size  so  abounds  in  the  happiest  orig- 
inalities, individually  considered.  They  are  so 
excessive  as,  in  the  end,  to  deaden  in  the  reader 
all  capacity  for  their  appreciation. 

These  points  properly  understood,  it  will  be 
seen  that  the  critic  (unacquainted  with  Tieck) 
who  reads  a  single  tale  or  essay  by  Hawthorne, 
may  be  justified  in  thinking  him  original;  hut 
the  tone,  or  manner,  or  choice  of  subject,  which 
induces  in  this  critic  jhejjgnse  of  the  new,  will  — 
if  not  in  a  second  tale,  at  least  in  a  third  and  all 
subsequent  ones  —  ?  not  only  fail  of  inducing  it, 
but  bring  about  an  exactly  antagonistic  im- 
pressJon.  Ill  concluding  a  volume,  and  more 
especially  in  concluding  all  the  volumes  of  the 
author,  the  critic  will  abandon  his  first  design 
of  _  calling"  hSP"  original,77  and  caatent~Ems_elf 
with  styling  him  "  EeeiJiarT^ 

With  the  vague  opinion  that  to  be  original 
is  tojbe  unpopular,  I  could,  indeed,  agree,  were 
I^tp  adopt  an  understanding  of  originality  which, 
to  my  surprise,  I  have  known  adopted  by  many 
who  have  a  right  to  be  called  critical.     They 
have  limited,  in  a  love  for  mere  words,  the  liter- 
ary to  the  (jnetaphvsical  originality.     TEey  fe-     I 
gard  as^origSial  in  Tetters  only  such  combina-    ' 
tions  of  thought,  of  incident,  and  so  forth,  as 

how- 


ever, not  only  that  it  is  the  novelty  of  eif  ect  alone 

which  is  worth  consideration,  but  that  this  effect 

27 


t 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

is  best  wrought,  for  the  end  of  all  fictitious  com- 
position, pleasure,  by  shunning  rather  than  by 
seeking  the  absolute  novelty  of  combination. 
Originality,  thus  understood,  tasks  and  startles 
the  intellect,  and  so  brings  into  undue  action  the 
faculties  to  which,  in  the  lighter  literature,  we 
least  appeal.  And  thus  understood,  it  cannot 
fail  to  prove  unpopular  with  the  masses,  who, 
seeking  in  this  literature  amusement*  are  posT- 
lively  offended  bV  JliaUTUffiori;^^ 
originality  —  jrue  in  respect  of  ifs" 
" 


is"  thajbjwhich,  in  bringing  out  the  half  -formed. 
the  reluctant,  or  the  unexpressed  fancies  of  man- 

delicate  pulses  of  the 


heart's  passion,  or  in  giving  birth  to  some  univer- 
sal  sentiment  or  instinct  in  embryo,  thus  combines 
jivfilriKe^ 

real  egotistic  delight.  The  reader,  in  the  case 
Hfst  supposed  (that  of  the  absolute  novelty),  is 
excited,  but  embarrassed,  disturbed,  in  some  de- 
gree even  pained,  at  his  own  want  of  perception, 
at  his  own  folly  in  not  having  himself  hit  upon 
the  idea.  In  the  second  case,  his  pleasure  is 
doubled.  He  is  filled  with  an  intrinsic  and  ex- 
trinsic delight.  He  feels  and  intensely  enjoys 
the  seeming  novelty  of  the  thought,  enjoys  it  as 
really  novel,  as  absolutely  original  with  the 
writer  —  and  himself.  They  two,  he  fancies, 
have,  alone  of  all  men,  thought  thus.  They  two 
have,  together,  created  this  thing.  Hencefor- 
28 


HAWTHORNE'S   "TALES" 

ward  there  is  a  bond  of  sympathy  between  them 
—  a  sympathy  which  irradiates  every  subsequent 
page  of  the  book. 

There  is  a  species  of  writing  which,  with  some 
difficulty,  may  be  admitted  as  a  lower  degree  of 
what  I  have  called  the  true  original.  In  its  peru- 
sal, we  say  to  ourselves,  not  "  how  original  this 
is!  "  nor"  here  is  an  idea  which  I  and  the  author 
have  alone  entertained,"  but  "  here  is  a  charm- 
ingly obvious  fancy,"  or  sometimes  even,  "  here  is 
a  thought  which  I  am  not  sure  has  ever  occurred 
to  myself,  but  which,  of  course,  has  occurred  to 
all  the  rest  of  the  world."  This  kind  of  composi- 
tion (which  still  appertains  to  a  high  order)  is 
usually  designated  as  "  the  natural."  It  has 
little  external  resemblance,  but  strong  internal 
affinity  to  the  true  original,  if,  indeed,  as  I  have 
suggested,  it  is  not  of  this  latter  an  inferior  de- 
gree. It  is  best  exemplified,  among  English 
writers,  in  Addison,  Irving,  and  Hawthorne.  +/ 
The  _^_ease  "  which  is  so  often  spoken  of  as  its  L 
distinguishing  feature,  it  has  been  thejfashion  /  ^ 
tQ_re£ardLag,ease^in  appearance  alone,  as  a  point 
of  really  difficult  attainment.  This  idea,  how- 
ever, must  be  received^vitE  some  reservation. 
The  natural  style  is  difficult  only  to  those  who 
should  never  intermeddle  with  it  —  to  the  un- 
natural. It  is  but  the  result  of  writing  with  the 
understanding,  or  with  the  instinct,  that  the 
tone,  in  composition,  should  be  that  which,  at 
29 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 


frs- 


any  given  point  or  upon  any  given  topic,  would 
be  the  tone  of  the  great  mass  of  humanity.  The 
author  who,  after  the  manner  of  the  "  North 
Americans,"  is  merely  at  all  times  quiet,  is,  of 
course,  upon  most  occasions,  merely  silly  or 
stupid,  and  has  no  more  right  to  be  thought 
"  easy  "  or  "  natural "  than  has  a  cockney  ex- 
quisite, or  the  sleeping  beauty  in  the  wax-works. 
The  "  peculiarity,"  or  sameness,  or  monotone 
of  Hawthorne,  would,  in  its  mere  character  of 
"  peculiarity,"  and  without  reference  to  what  is 
the  peculiarity,  suffice  to  deprive  him  of  all 
chance  of  popular  appreciation.  But  at  his  fail- 
ure to  be  appreciated,  we  can,  of  course,  no  longer 
wonder,  when  we  find  him  monotonous  at  de- 
cidedly the  worst  of  all  possible  points  —  at  that 
point  which,  having  the  least  concern  with  Na- 
ture, is  the  farthest  removed  from  the  popular 
intellect,  from  the  popular  sentiment,  and  from 
the  popular  taste.  I  allude  to  the  strain  of  alle- 
gory which  completely  overwhelms  the  greater 
number  of  his  subjects,  and  which  in  some  mea- 
sure  interferes  with  the  direct  conduct  of  abso- 
lutely all. 

~~  In  defence  of  allegory  (however  or  for  what- 
ever object  employed)  there  is  scarcely  one  re- 
spectable word  to  be  said.  Its  best  appeals  are 
made  to  the  fancy — that  is  to  say,  to  our  sense 
of  adaptation,  not  of  matters  proper,  but  of  mat- 
ters improper  for  the  purpose,  of  the  real  with  the 
30 


HAWTHORNE'S   "TALES" 


unreal;  having  never  more  of  intelligible  con- 
nection than  has  something  with  nothing,  never 
half  so  much  of  effective  affinity  as  has  the  sub- 
stance for  the  shadow.  The  deepest  emotion 
aroused  within  us  6y  the  happiest  allegory,  as 
allegory,  is  a  very,  very  imperfectly  satisfied 


sense  of  the  writer's  ingenuity  in  overcoming  a 
difficulty  we  should  have  preferred  his  not  hay- 
ing  attempted _to_Qyercome.  The  fallacy  of  the 
idea  that  allegory,  in  any  of  its  moods,  can  be 
made  to  enforce  a  truth,  that  metaphor,  for  ex- 
ample, may  illustrate  as  well  as  embellish  an  ar- 
gument, could  be  promptly  demonstrated;  the 
converse  of  the  supposed  fact  might  be  shown, 
indeed,  with  very  little  trouble ;  but  these  are 
topics  foreign  to  my  present  purpose.  Qne 
thing  is  clear,  that  if  allegory  ever  establishes  a 
icier,  it  is  oy  oiint  01  overturning  a  lie  Lion. 
Where  the  suggested  Imeaning  runs  ffirough  the 
obvious  one  in  a  very  profound  under-current, 
so  as  never  to  interfere  with  the  upper  one  with- 
out our  own  volition,  so  as  never  to  show  itself 
unless  called  to  the  surface,  there  only,  for  the 
proper  uses  of  fictitious  narrative,  is  it  available 
at  all.  Under  the  best  circumstances,  it  must 
always  interfere  with  that  unity  of  effect  which, 
to  the  artist,  is  worth  all  the  allegory  in  the 
world.  Its  vital  injury,  however,  is  rendered 
to  thehmostjdtally  importanMpojiit  in  fictio3 — , 
that  of  earnestness  or  verisimilitude.  That "  The 
T"  31 


r»  */t  «-* 


•N  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

Progress  "  is  a  ludicrously  over-rated 


book,  owing  its  seeming  popularity  to  one  or 
two  of  those  accidents  in  critical  literature  which 
by  the  critical  are  sufficiently  well  understood, 
is  a  matter  upon  which  no  two  thinking  people 
disagree;  but  the  pleasure  derivable  from  it,  in 
any  sense,  will  be  found  in  the  direct  ratio  of 
the  reader's  capacity  to  smother  its  true  pur- 
J  pose,  in  the  direct  ratio  of  his  ability  to  keep  the 
allegory  out  of  sight,  or  of  his  inability  to  com- 
prehend it.  Of  allegory  properlyTiandled,  judi- 
ciously subdued,  seen  only  as  a  shadow  or  by 
suggestive  glimpses,  and  making  its  nearest  ap-  <^>& 
proach  to  truth  in  a  not  obtrusive  and  therefore 
not  unpleasant  appositeness,  the  "  Undine  "  of 
De  La  Motte  Fouque  is  the  best,  and  undoubt- 
edly a  very  remarkable  specimen. 

The  obvious  causes,  however,  which  have  pre- 
vented Mr.  Hawthorne's  popularity,  do  not  suf- 
fice to  condemn  him  in  the  eyes  of  the  few  who 
belong  properly  to  books,  and  to  whom  books, 
perhaps,  do  not  quite  so  properly  belong.  These 
few  estimate  an  author,  not  as  do  the  public,  al- 
together by  what  he  does,  but  in  great  measure 
—  indeed,  even  in  the  greatest  measure  —  by 
what  he  evinces  a  capability  of  doing.  In  this 
view,  Hawthorne  stands  among  literary  people 
in  America  much  in  the  same  light  as  did  Cole- 
ridge in  England.  The  few,  also,  through  a 
certain  warping  of  the  taste,  which  long  ponder- 


HAWTHORNE'S  "TALES" 

ing  upon  books  as  books  merely  never  fails  to 
induce,  are  not  in  condition  to  view  the  errors 
of  a  scholar  as  errors  altogether.  At  any  time 
these  gentlemen  are  prone  to  think  the  public 
not  right  rather  than  an  educated  author  wrong. 
But  the  simple  truth  is  that  the  writer  who  aims 
at  impressing  the  people  is  always  wrong  when 
he  fails  in  forcing  that  people  to  receive  the  im- 
pression. How  far  Mr.  Hawthorne  has  ad- 
dressed the  people  at  all,  is,  of  course,  not  a 

question  for  me  touJecide., His  books  afford 

strong  internal  evidence  o£-baving  been  written 
to  himself  and  his  particular  friends  alone. 

There  has  long  existed  in  literature  a  fatal 
and  unfounded  prejudice,  which  it  will  be  the 
office  of  this  age  to  overthrow,  the  idea  that 
the  mere  bulk  of  a  work  must  enter  largely  into 
our  estimate  of  its  merit.  I  do  not  suppose  even 
the  weakest  of  the  Quarterly  reviewers  weak 
enough  to  maintain  that  in  a  book's  size  or  mass, 
abstractly  considered,  there  is  anything  which 
especially  calls  for  our  admiration.  A  mountain, 
simply  through  the  sensation  of  physical  magni- 
tude which  it  conveys,  does,  indeed,  affect  us 
with  a  sense  of  the  sublime,  but  we  cannot  ad- 
mit any  such  influence  in  the  contemplation  even 
of  "The  Columbiad."  The  Quarterlies  them- 
selves will  not  admit  it.  And  yet,  what  else  are 
we  to  understand  by  their  continual  prating 
about  "sustained  effort"?  Granted  that  this 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

sustained   effort   has    accomplished   an   epic  — 
let  us  then  admire  the  effort  (if  this  be  a  thing 
admirable),  but  certainly  not  the  epic  on  the 
^effort's  account.    Common-sense,  in  the  time  to 
come,  may  possibly  insist  upon  measuring  a 
work  of  art  rather  by  the  object  it  fulfils,  byjthe 
impression  it  makes,  thanjby  the  time  it  took 
to  fulfil  the  object,  or  by  the  extent  of  "  sus- 
tained effort"  which  became  necessary  to  pro- 
duce the  impression.    The  fact  is,  that  persever- 
ance is  one  thing  and  genius  quite  another;  nor 
^    can  all  the  transcendentalists  in  Heathendom 
"   confound  them. 

\  ttv  »      » 

"^  5*-~<iM*-^    jj 

The  pieces  in  the  volumes  entitled  "  Twice- 
Told  Tales,"  are  now  in  their  third  republica- 
tion,  and,  of  course,  are  thrice-told.  Moreover, 
*they  are  by  no  means  all  tales,  either  in  the  ordi- 
nary or  in  the  legitimate  understanding  of  the 
-  term.  Many  of  them  are  pure  essays ;  for  ex- 
ample, "  Sights  from  a  Steeple,"  "  Sunday  at 
Home,"  "Little  Annie's  Ramble,"  "A  Rill 
from  the  Town  Pump,"  "  The  Toll- Gatherer's 
Day,"  "The  Haunted  Mind,"  "The  Sister 
Years,"  "Snow  Flakes,"  "Night  Sketches," 
and  "  Footprints  on  the  Sea  Shore."  I  mention 
these  matters  chiefly  on  account  of  their  dis- 
.crepancy  with  that  marked  precision  and  finish 
by  which  the  body  of  the  work  is  distinguished. 


HAWTHORNE'S   "TALES" 


Of  the  essays  just  named,  I  must  be  content  to 
speak  in  brief.  They  are  each  anJLjjjT  beauti- 
ful,  without  being  characterized  by  the  polish 
and  adaptation  so  visible  in  the  tales  proper.  A 
painter  would  at  once  note  their  leading  or  pre- 
dominant feature,  and  style  it  repose.  There 
is  no  attempt  at  effect.  All  is  quiet,  thoughtful, 
subdued.  Yet  this  repose  may  exist  simultane- 
ously with  high  originality  of  thought;  and  Mr. 
Hawthorne  has  demonstrated  the  fact.  At 
every  turn  we  meet  with  novel  combinations; 
yet  these  combinations  never  surpass  the  limits 
of  the  quiet.  We  are  soothed  as  we  read;  and 
withal  is  a  calm  astonishment  that  ideas  so  ap- 
parently obvious  have  never  occurred  or  been 
presented  to  us  before.  Herein  our  author 
differs  materially  from  Lamb  or  Hunt  or  Haz-  1 
litt  —  who,  with  vivid  originality  ,of  jnanner  and 
expression,  have  IPS.S  of  the  true  novelty  of 
thought  than  is  generally  supposed,  and  whose 
originality,  at  best,  has  an  uneasy  and  meretri-  ^ 
cious  quaintness,  replete  with  startling  effects 
unfounded  in  nature,  and  inducing  trains  of  re- 
flection which  lead  to  no  satisfactory  result. 
The  essays  of  Hawthorne  have  much  of  the 
character  of  Irving,  with  more  of  originality, 
and  less  of  finish;  while,  compared  with  "  The 
Spectator,"  they  have  a  vast  superiority  at  all 
points.  "  The  Spectator,"  Mr.  Irving,  and 
Hawthorne  have  in  common  that  tranquil  and 
35 


f*: 


/*?  - 

cow 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

subdued  manner  which  I  have  chosen  to  denomi- 
nate Jrepos^-  but,  in  the  case  of  the  two  former, 
this  repose  is  attained  rather  by  the  absence  of 
np^ejjcombination,  or  of  originality^  tha^aEKer- 

tfs  i  wise,  and  consists  chiefly  in  the  calmL_otuieti_unos- 
tentatious  expression^of  ^ogimojiplace  thoughts, 

^>K5  in^yQjnaj^iti  In 

^W^  them,  by  strongeffortTwe  are  made  to  conceive 
^V  the  absence  of  all.  In  the  essays  before  me  the 
absence  of  effort  is  too  obvious  to  be  mis- 
taken, and  a  strong  under-current  of  sugges- 
tion runs  continuously  beneath  the  upper  stream 


of  the  tranquil  thesis.  In  short,  these  effu- 
sions of  Mr.  Hawthorne  are  the  product  of  a 
truly  imaginative  intellect,  restrained,  and  in 
some  measure  repressed,  by  fastidiousness  of 
taste,  by  constitutional  melancholy,  and  by  in- 
dolence. 

But  it  is  of  his  tales  that  I  desire  principally 
to'ljpeak.  The  tale  proper,  in  my  opinion,  af- 
fords  unquestionably  the  fairest  field  for  the  ex- 

ercise  of  the  loftiest  talent,  which  can  be  afforded 

—  ~ 

by  the  wide  domains  of  mere  prose.     Were  I 

bidden  to  say  how  the  highest  genius  could  be 
most  advantageously  employed  for  the  best  dis- 
play of  its  own  powers,  I  should  answer,  without 
hesitation  —  in  the  composition  of  a  rhymed 
poem,  not  to  ^exceed  in  length  what  might  be 
perused  in  an  hour.  Within  this  limit  alone~can 
tEe  highesForder  of  true  poetry  exist.  I  need 
36 


^ 


.,: 


HAWTHORNE'S  "TALES" 

only  here  say,  upon  this  topic,  that,  in  almost 
aUclasses  of  composition  the  unity  ofeffect  or  j 
impression  is  a  point  of  the  greatest  importance./  v 
It  is  clear,  moreover,  thatjhis  unity  cannot  bef 
thoroughly  preserved  in  productions  whose"pe|4^    k  v 
rusal  cannot  be  completed  at  one  sitting:    Wei 
may  "continue  the  reading  of  a  prose  composi-        t  ^Cbv^ 
tion,  from  the  very  nature  of  prose  itself,  much 
longer  than  we  can  persevere,  to  any  good  pur-     ^ 
pose,  in  the  perusal  of  a  poem.     This  latter,     _ 
if  truly  fulfilling  the  demands  of  the  poetic  senti- 
ment, induces  an  exaltation  of  the  soul  which 
cannot  be  long  sustained.    All  high  excitements    | 
are  necessarily  transient.    Thus  a  long  poem  is    I 
a  paradox.    And,  without  unity  of  impression, 
tEeTdeepest  effects  cannot  be  brought  about  i  "^Vq, 
Epics  were  the  offspring  of  an  imperfect  sense^     «  i 
oj^Art.  and  their  reign  is  no  more^   A  poeik  too\f 
brief  may  produce  a  vivid,  but  never  an  intense 
or  enduring  impression.    Without  a  certain  co\-          ^-%. 
tinuity  of  effort  —  without  a  certain  duration  oX     ., 
repetition  of  purpose  —  the  soul  is  never  deeply 
moved.     There  must  be  the  dropping  of  the    \  1*  • 
water  upon  the  rock.    De  Beranger  has  wrought  ^  ty  yi 

brilliant  things,  pungent  and  spirit-stirring;  but, 
like  all  immassive  bodies,  they  lack  momentum, 
and  thus  fail  to  satisfy  the  Poetic  Sentiment. 
They  sparkle  and  excite,  but,  from  want  of  con- 
tinuity, fail  deeply  to  impress.  Extreme  brevity 
will  degenerate  into  epigrammatism ;  but  the  sin 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

of  extreme  length  is  even  more  unpardonable. 
In  medio  tutissimus  ibis. 

Were  I  called  upon,  however,  to  designate 
that  class  of  composition  which,  next  to  such  a 
poem  as  I  have  suggested,  should  best  fulfil  the  de- 
mands of  high  genius  —  should  offer  it  the  most 
advantageous  field  of  exertion  —  I  should  un- 
hesitatingly speak  of  the  prose  tale,  as  Mr.  Haw- 
thorne has  here  exemplified  it.    I  allude  to  the 
itjj    short  prose  narrative,  requiring  from  a  half-hour  /^ 
^  K      *°  one  or  two  hours  m  its  perusal.    The  ordinary   H^ 
tVJl/i       novel"  is  objectionableTTrom  its  length,  for  rea- 
6  •,   sons_already  stafM'in  substance.    As  it  cannot^be 
reac*  at  one  sitting,  it  deprives  itself,  of  course,    A 
OJL  the  immense  force  derivable  from  totality,      ^t 
^  \^  i    Worldly  interests  intervening  duringlJie  pauses   /w 
°^  Perusa^  modify,  annul,  or  counteract,  in  a 
greater  or  less  degree,  the  impressions  of  the  book. 
But  simple  rpasatinn  in  reading  would,  of  itself  vbe 
sufficient  ^<>  destroy  t.hp  trnp  unify.     In  the  brief 
tale,  -however,  the  author  is  enabled  to  carry  out 
^Jtie  fulness  of  his  intention,  be  it  what  it  may. 
During-  the  hour  of  perusal  the  soul  of  the  reader 
is  at  the  writer's  control.    There  are  no  external 
or  extrinsic  influences  —  resulting  from  weari- 
ness  °r  ^erruption. 

A  skilful  literary  artist  has  constructed  a  tale. 


^fiNL^ 


commodate  his  incidents;  but  havmg  conceived, 
deHbera^care,  ^cCTt^jmque  orjmgle 


HAWTHORNE'S   "TALES" 


effect  to  be  wrought  out,  he  then  invents  such 
incidents  —  he  then  combines  such  events  as  may 
best  aid  him  in  establishing  this  preconceived 
effect.  If  Bis  very  initial  sentence  tend  not  to 
ihe~outbringing  of  this  effect,  then  helias^ailed 
in  his  first  step.  In  the  whole  composition  there 
should_Fe  no  word  written,  of  which  the  tendency, 
direct  or  indirect,  is  not  to  the  one -pre-estaBIished^ 
design^  And  by  such  means,  witnsiiclTcgre^aiid 


fire 


,  a  picture  is  at  length  painted  which  leaves 
in  the  mind  of  him  who  contemplates  it  with 
a  kindred  art,  a  sense  of  the  fullest  satisfaction. 
The  idea  of  the  tale  has  been  presented 

\blemished,  because  undisturbed;  and  this  is 
end  unattainable  by  the  novel.     Undue  bre 
is  just  as  exceptionable  here  as  in  the  p 
but  undue  length  is  yet  more  to  be  avoided. 

-'4  We  have  said  that  the  tale  has  a  point  of 
superiority  even  over  the  poem.  In  fact,  while 
the  rhythm  of  this  latter  is  an  essential  aid  in  the 
development  of  the  poem's  highest  idea  —  the 

jdga^^oif  the  Beautiful  —  the  artificialities  of  this 
rhythm  are  an  inseparable  bar  to  the  develop- 
ment of  all  points  of  thought  or  expression  which 
have  their  basis  in  Truth.  But  Truth  is  often, 
and  in  very  great  degree,  the  aim  of  the  tale. 
Some  of  the  finest  tales  are  tales  of  ratiocination. 
Thus  the  field  of  this  species  qf  composition,  if 
not  in  so  elevated  a  region  on  the  mountain  of 
Mind,  is  a  table-land  of  far  vaster  extent  than  the 


TRfe 


r\<K  n       "M^ 

^^^•VV^Jy/iA          *   A    H 

*™F*H&KJk  oiytv*f  «<uA  > 
ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 


f?k  -VI 


domain  of  the  mere  poem.  Its  products  are  never 
so  rich,  hut  infinitely  more  numerous,  and  more 
appreciable  by  the  mass  of  mankind.  The  writer 
of  the  prose  tale,  in  short,  may  bring  to  his  theme 
a  vast  variety  of  modes  or  inflections  of  thought 
and  expression  —  (the  ratiocinative,  for  ex- 
ample, the  sarcastic,  or  the  humorous)  which  are 
no*  onty  antagonistical  to  the  nature  of  the  poem, 
but  absolutely  forbidden  by  one  of  its  most  pe- 
culiar  and  indispensable  adjuncts;  we  allude,  of 
course,  to  \rhythm,  It  may  be  added,  here,  par 
that  the  author  who  aims  at  the 
in  a.  prnsp  tfllp  is  laboring  at  a 

great  disadvantage.  For  Beauty  can  be  better 
treated  in  thejpoeni.  Not  so  with  terror,  or 
passion,  or  horror,  or  a  multitude  of  such  other 
points.  And  here  it  will  be  seen  how  full  of  prej  - 
\U(^ce  are  tne  usual  animadversions  against  those 
tales  of  effect,  many  fine  examples  of  which  were 
found  in  the  earlier  numbers  of  "  Blackwood." 
The  impressions  produced  were  wrought  in  a 
legitimate  sphere  of  action,  and  constituted  a 
V^V.  legitimate  although  sometimes  an  exaggerated 
interest.  They  were  relished  by  every  man  of 
genius:  although  there  were  found  many  men 
of  genius  who  condemned  them  without  just 
prrnynrl  I  The  true  critic  will  but  demand  that 
the  design  intended  be  accomplished,  to  the 
\  fullest  extent,  by  the  means  most  advantage- 
ly applicable. 

4° 


HAWTHORNE'S  "TALES" 

We  have  very  few  American  tales  of  real\ 
merit  —  we  may  say,  indeed,  noner  withJthfiLex-1 
ception  of  '"The  Tales  of  a  Traveller  "  of  Wash- 
ington :"Trying, ..  jnd  these  "  Twice-Told  Tales  "  \ 
of^  Mr.  Hawthorne.    Some  of  the  pieces  of  Mr. 
John  Neal  abound  in  vigor  and  originality;  but, 
in  general,  his  compositions  of  this  class  are  ex- 
cessively diffuse,  extravagant,  and  indicative  of  / 
an  imperfect  sentiment  of  Art.    Articles  at  ran- 
dom are,  now  and  then,  met  with  in  our  periodi- 
cals which  might  be  advantageously  compared 
with  the  best  effusions  of  the  British  magazines ; 
but,  upon  the  whole,  we  are  far  behind  our  pro-          / 
genitors  in  this  department  of  literature.  -     ^,3  /j 

Of  Mr.  Hawthorne's  "  Tales  'l^e  woidd^say,  *****^*fao>' 
emphatically,  that  they  belong  to  the  highest  )  A-sL* 
region  of  Art  —  an  Art  subservient  to  genius 
of  a  very  lofty  order.  We  supposed,  and  with 
good  reason  for  so  supposing,  that  he  had  been 
thrust  into  his  present  position  by  one  of  the 
impudent  cliques  which  beset  our  literature,  and 
whose  pretensions  it  is  our  full  purpose  to  ex- 
pose at  the  earliest  opportunity;  but  we  have 
been  most  agreeably  mistaken.  We  know  of  few 
compositions  which  the  critic  can  more  honestly 
commend  than  these  "  Twice-Told  Tales."  As 
Americans,  we  feel  proud  of  the  book. 

Mr.  Hawthorne's  distinctive  trait  is  inven- 
tinn.  firea.t.inn1  im^jpnfliynk  originality  —  a  trait 
which,  in  the  literature  of  fiction,  is  positively 
41 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

worth  all  the  rest.  But  the  nature  of  the  origi- 
nality, so  far  as  regards  its  manifestation  in 
letters,  is  but  imperfectly  understood.  The  jn- 
rentive  or  original  mind  as  frequently  displays 
itself  in  novelty  of  tone  as  in  novelty  of  matter. 
Mr.  Hawthorne  is 


^ 

Tt^wouldlbe  a  matter  of  some  difficulty  to 
designate  the  best  of  these  tales;  we  repeat  that, 
vvNwithout  exception,  they  are  beautiful.  "  Wake- 
field  "  is  remarkable  for  the  skill  with  which  an 
bi*  °^  idea,  —  a  well-known  incident,  —  is  worked 
up  or  discussed.  A  man  of  whims  conceives  the 
purpose  of  quitting  his  wife  and  residing  incog- 
nito, for  twenty  years,  in  her  immediate  neigh- 
borhood. Something  of  this  kind  actually  hap- 
pened in  London.  Thg^forpp  nf  Mr.  TTaw- 
thorne's  talejies  in  the  analysis  of  thejmotives 
which  musj^or  might  have  impelled  the  husband 
fo^sudh  folly,  in  the  first  instance,  with  the  pos- 
sible  causes  of  his  perseverance.  Upon  this 
thesis  a  sketch  of  singular  power  has  been  con- 
structed. "  The  Wedding  Knell  "  is  full  of  the 
boldest  imagination,  —  an  imagination  fully  con- 
trolled by  taste.  The  most  captious  critic  could 
find  no  flaw  in  this  production.  "  The  Minister's 
Black  Veil  "  is  a  masterly  composition  of  which 
the  sole  defect  is  that  to  the  rabble  its  exquisite 
skill  will  be  caviare.  The  obvious  meaning  of 
this  article  will  be  found  to  smother  its  insinu- 
ated one.  The  moral  put  into  the  mouth  of  the 


HAWTHORNE'S  "TALES" 

dying  minister  will  be  supposed  to  convey  the 
true  import  of  the  narrative;  and  that  a  crime 
of  dark  dye  (having  reference  to  the  "  young 
lady  ")  has  been  committed,  is  a  point  which 
only  minds  congenial  with  that  of  the  author 
will  perceive.  "  Mr.  Higginbotham's  Catas- 
trophe "  is  vividly  original  and  managed  most 
dexterously.  "Dr.  Heidegger's  Experiment" 
is  excedingly  well  imagined,  and  executed  with 
surpassing  ability.  The  artist  breathes  in  every 
line  of  it.  "  The  White  Old  Maid  "  is  objec- 
tionable, even  more  than  "  The  Minister's  Black 
Veil,"  on  the  score  of  its  mysticism.  Even  with 
the  thoughtful  and  analytic,  there  will  be  much 
trouble  in  penetrating  its  entire  import. 

"  The  Hollow  of  the  Three  Hills  "  we  would 
quote  in  full,  had  we  space;  not  as  evincing 
higher  talent  than  any  of  the  other  pieces,  but 
as  affording  an  excellent  example  of  the  au- 
thor's peculiar  ability.  The  subject  is  com- 
monplace. A  witch  subjects  the  Distant  and 
the  Past  to  the  view  of  a  mourner.  It  has  been 
the  fashion  to  describe,  in  such  cases,  a  mirror 
in  which  the  images  of  the  absent  appear;  or 
a  cloud  of  smoke  is  made  to  arise,  and  thence 
the  figures  are  gradually  unfolded.  Mr.  Haw- 
thorne has  wonderfully  heightened  his  effect  by 
making  the  ear,  in  place  of  the  eye,  the  medium 
by  which  the  fantasy  is  conveyed.  The  head  of 
the  mourner  is  enveloped  in  the  cloak  of  the 
43 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

witch,  and  within  its  magic  folds  there  arise 
sounds  which  have  an  all-sufficient  intelligence. 
Throughout  this  article  also,  the  artist  is  con- 
spicuous, —  not  more  in  positive  than  in  negative 
merits.  Not  only  is  all  done  that  should  be  done, 
but  (what  perhaps  is  an  end  with  more  diffi- 
culty attained)  there  is  nothing  done  which 
should  not  be.  Every  word  tells,  and  there 
is  not  a  wor^wjtucjh.  does  naLiell. 

In  "  Howe's  Masquerade  "  we  observe  some- 
thing which  resembles  a  plagiarism,  —  but  which 
may  be  a  very  flattering  coincidence  of  thought. 
We  quote  the  passage  in  question. 

"  With  a  dark  flush  of  wrath  upon  his  brow,  they  saw 
the  General  draw  his  sword  and  advance  to  meet  the 
figure  in  the  cloak  before  the  latter  had  stepped  one 
pace  upon  the  floor.  *  Villain,  unmuffle  yourself  cried 
he.  6  You  pass  no  farther ! '  The  figure,  without 
blenching  a  hair's  breadth  from  the  sword  which  was 
pointed  at  his  breast,  made  a  solemn  pause,  and  low- 
ered the  cape  of  the  cloak  from  about  his  face,  yet  not 
sufficiently  for  the  spectators  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  it. 
But  Sir  William  Howe  had  evidently  seen  enough.  The 
sternness  of  his  countenance  gave  place  to  a  look  of 
wild  amazement,  if  not  horror,  while  he  recoiled  several 
steps  from  the  figure,  and  let  fall  his  sword  upon  the 
floor."  ii.81. 

The  idea  here  is,  that  the  figure  in  the  cloak 
is  the  phantom  or  reduplication  of  Sir  William 
Howe ;  but  in  an  article  called  "  William  Wil- 
son," one  of  the  "  Tales  of  the  Grotesque  and 

44 


HAWTHORNE'S   "TALES" 

Arabesque,"  we  have  not  only  the  same  idea,  but 
the  same  idea  similarly  presented  in  several 
respects.  We  quote  two  paragraphs,  which  our 
readers  may  compare  with  what  has  been  already 
given.  We  have  italicised,  above,  the  immediate 
particulars  of  resemblance. 

The  brief  moment  in  which  I  averted  my  eyes 
had  been  sufficient  to  produce,  apparently,  a  material 
change  in  the  arrangement  at  the  upper  or  farther  end 
of  the  room.  A  large  mirror,  it  appeared  to  me,  now 
stood  where  none  had  been  perceptible  before:  and  as 
I  stepped  up  to  it  in  extremity  of  terror,  mine  own  im- 
age, but  with  features  all  pale  and  dabbled  in  blood, 
advanced  with  a  feeble  and  tottering  gait  to  meet  me. 
Thus  it  appeared  I  say,  but  was  not.  It  was  Wilson, 
who  then  stood  before  me  in  the  agonies  of  dissolution. 
Not  a  line  in  all  the  marked  and  singular  lineaments  of 
that  face  which  was  not  even  identically  mine  own. 
His  mask  and  cloak  lay  where  he  had  thrown  them*, 
upon  the  floor,  ii.  57. 

Here,  it  will  be  observed  that,  not  only  are 
the  two  general  conceptions  identical,  but  there 
are  various  points  of  similarity.  In  each  case 
the  figure  seen  is  the  wraith  or  duplication  of 
the  beholder.  In  each  case  the  scene  is  a  mas- 
querade. In  each  case  the  figure  is  cloaked. 
In  each  there  is  a  quarrel,  —  that  is  to  say, 
angry  words  pass  between  the  parties.  In  each 
the  beholder  is  enraged.  In  each  the  cloak  and 
sword  fall  upon  the  floor.  The  "  villain,  un- 
muffle  yourself,"  of  Mr.  Hawthorne  is  precisely 
45 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

paralleled  by  a  passage  at  page  56,  of  "  William 
Wilson." 

Ill 

I  must  hasten  to  conclude  this  paper  with  a 
summary  of  Mr.  Hawthorne's  merits  and  de- 
merits. 


s  ^  He  is  [peculiar]  and  not  original) — unless  in 
£)  those  detailed  fancies  and  detached  thoughts 
which  his  want  of  general  originality  will  de- 
prive of  the  appreciation  due  to  them,  in  pre- 
venting them  from  ever  reaching  the  public  eye. 
"2/^  He  is  infinitely  toojfond  of  allegory,  and  can 
faeverJhope  for  popularity  so  long  asThe  persists 
iiTlf.  TEsnEe^mfl  not  do,  for  allegory  is  at 
war  with  the  whole  tone  of  his  nature,  which 
disports  itself  never  so  well  as  when  escaping 
from  the  mysticism  of  his  "  Goodman  Browns  " 
and  "  White  Old  Maids  "  into  the  hearty,  genial, 
but  still  Indian-summer  sunshine  of  his  "  Wake- 
fields  "  and  "  Little  Annie's  Rambles."  Indeed, 
his  spirit  of  "  metaphor  run-mad  "  is  clearly  im- 
bibed from  the  phalanx  and  phalanstery  atmos- 
phere in  which  he  has  been  so  long  struggling 
for  breath.  He  has  not  half  the  material  for 
the  exclusiveness  of  authorship  that  he  possesses 
for  its  imiYersalitj.  He  has  the  surest  style, 
the  finest  taste^  the  most  available  scholarship, 
JL\  the  most  delicate  humor,  the  most  touching 
pathos,  the  most  radiant  imagination,  the  most 
46  


HAWTHORNE'S  "TALES" 

consummate  ingenuity;  and  with  these  varied 
good  qualities  he  has  done  well  as  a  mystic.  But  ,- 

is  there  any  one  of  these  qualities  which  should 
prevent  his  doing  doubly  as  well  in  a  career  of 
honest,  upright,  sensible,  prehensible,  and  com- 
prehensible things?  Let  him  mend  his  pen,  get 
a  bottle  of  visible  ink,  come  out  from  the  Old 
Manse,  cut  Mr.  Alcott,  hang  (if  possible)  the 
editor  of  the  "  Dial,"  and  throw  out  of  the  win- 
dow to  the  pigs  all  his  odd  numbers  of  the 
"  North  American  Review." 


DICKENS'S  "BARNABY  RUDGE" 

WE  often  hear  it  said,  of  this  or  of  that 
proposition,  that  it  may  be  good  in 
theory,  but  will  not  answer  in  practice;  and  in 
such  assertions  we  find  the  substance  of  all  the 
sneers  at  critical  art  which  so  gracefully  curl  the 
upper  lips  of  a  tribe  which  is  beneath  it.  We 
mean  the  small  geniuses  —  the  literary  Titmice 
—  animalculse  which  judge  of  merit  solely  by  re- 
sult, and  boast  of  the  solidity,  tangibility,  and  in- 
fallibilty  of  the  test  which  they  employ.  The 
worth  of  a  work  is  most  accurately  estimated, 
they  assure  us,  by  the  number  of  those  who  peruse 
it;  and  "  does  a  book  sell? "  is  a  query  embody- 
ing, in  their  opinion,  all  that  need  be  said  or 
sung  on  the  topic  of  its  fitness  for  sale.  We 
should  as  soon  think  of  maintaining,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  these  creatures,  the  dictum  of  Anaxag- 
oras,  that  snow  is  black,  as  of  disputing,  for 
example,  the  profundity  of  that  genius  which, 
in  a  run  of  five  hundred  nights,  has  rendered 
itself  evident  in  "  London  Assurance."  "  What," 
cry  they,  "  are  critical  precepts  to  us,  or 
to  anybody?  Were  we  to  observe  all  the  critical 
rules  in  creation  we  should  still  be  unable  to 
write  a  good  book  "  —  a  point,  by  the  way,  which 
48 


DICKENS'S  "  BARNABY  RUDGE  " 

we  shall  not  now  pause  to  deny.  "  Give  us 
results,"  they  vociferate,  "  for  we  are  plain  men 
of  common-sense.  We  contend  for  fact  instead 
of  fancy  —  for  practice  in  opposition  to  theory." 

The  mistake   into  which   the   Titmice   have 
heen  innocently  led,  however,  is  precisely  that 
of  dividing  the  practice  which  they  would  up- 
hold from  the  theory  to  which  they  would  object. 
They  should  have  been  told  in  infancy,  and  thus 
prevented  from  exposing  themselves  in  old  age,  ,*>. 
that£theory  and  practice  are  in  so  much  one(5/ 
that  the  former  implies  or  includes  the  latter.    A 
theory  is  only  good  as  such  in  proportion  to  its 
reducibility  to  practice.     If  the  practice  fail, 
it  is  because  the  theory  is  imperfect?7^To  say 
what  they  are  in  the  daily  habit  of  saying  —  that   ^\ 
such  or  such  a  matter  may  be  good  in  theory  but   ^ 
is  false  in  practice  —  is  to  perpetrate  a  bull,  to 
commit  a  paradox,  to  state  a  contradiction  in 
terms,  —  in  plain  words,  to  tell  a  lie  which  is  a 
lie  at  sight  to  the  understanding  of  anything  big- 
ger than  a  Titmouse// 

But  we  have  no  idea,  just  now,  of  persecuting 
the  Tittlebats  by  too  close  a  scrutiny  into  their 
little  opinions.  It  is  not  our  purpose,  for  ex- 
ample, to  press  them  with  so  grave  a  weapon  as 
the  argumentum  ad  absurdum,  or  to  ask  them 
why,  if  the  popularity  of  a  book  be  in  fact  the 
measure  of  its  worth,  we  should  not  be  at  once 
in  condition  to  admit  the  inferiority  of  Newton's 
49 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

"Principia"  to  Hoyle's  "Games;"  of  "Er- 
nest Maltravers  "  to  "  Jack-the-Giant-Killer  "  or 
"Jack  Sheppard"or  "Jack  Brag;"  and  of 
Dick's  "  Christian  Philosopher  "  to  "  Charlotte 
Temple  "  or  the  "  Memoirs  of  De  Grammont," 
or  to  one  or  two  dozen  other  works  which  must 
be  nameless.  Our  present  design  is  but  to  speak, 
at  some  length,  of  a  book  which  in  so  much  con- 
cerns the  Titmice  that  it  affords  them  the  very 
kind  of  demonstration  which  they  chiefly  affect 
—  practical  demonstration  —  of  the  fallacy  of 
one  of  their  favorite  dogmas ;  we  mean  the  dogma 
that  no  work  of  fiction  can  fully  suit,  at  the 
same  time,  the  critical  and  the  popular  taste;  in 
fact,  that  the  disregarding  or  contravening  of 
critical  rule  is  absolutely  essential  to  success, 
beyond  a  certain  and  very  limited  extent,  with 
the  public  at  large.  And  if,  in  the  course  of 
our  random  observations  —  for  we  have  no 
space  for  systematic  review  —  it  should  appear, 
incidentally,  that  the  vast  popularity  of  "  Bar- 
naby  Rudge  "  must  be  regarded  less  as  the  mea- 
sure of  its  value  than  asjme  legitimate  and  in- 
evitable result  of  certain  well-understood  critical 
propositions  reduced  by  genius  into  practice, 
there  will  appear  nothing  more  than  what  has 
before  become  apparent  in  the  "  Vicar  of  Wake- 
field  "  of  Goldsmith,  or  in  the  "  Robinson  Cru- 
soe" of  De  Foe  —  nothing  more,  in  fact,  than 
what  is  a  truism  to  all  but  the  Titmice. 
50 


DICKENS'S  "  BARNABY  RUDGE  " 

Those  who  know  us  will  not,  from  what  is 
here  premised,  suppose  it  our  intention,  to  enter 
into  any  wholesale  laudation  of  "  Barnaby 
Rudge."  In  truth,  our  design  may  appear,  at 
a  cursory  glance,  to  be  very  different  indeed. 
Boccalini,  in  his  "Advertisements  from  Par- 
nassus," tells  us  that  a  critic  once  presented 
Apollo  with  a  severe  censure  upon  an  excellent 
poem.  The  god  asked  him  for  the  beauties  of 
the  work.  He  replied  that  he  only  troubled 
himself  about  the  errors.  Apollo  presented  him 
with  a  sack  of  unwinnowed  wheat,  and  bade  him 
pick  out  all  the  chaff  for  his  pains.  Now  we 
have  not  fully  made  up  our  minds  that  the  god 
was  in  the  right.  We  are  not  sure  that  the 
limit  of  critical  duty  is  not  very  generally  mis- 
apprehended. Excellence  may  be  considered  an 
axiom,  or  a  proposition  which  becomes  self-evi- 
dent just  in  proportion  to  the  clearness  or  pre- 
cision with  which  it  is  put.  If  it  fairly  exists,  in 
this  sense,  it  requires  no  farther  elucidation.  It 
is  not  excellence  if  it  need  to  be  demonstrated  as 
such.  To  point  out  too  particularly  the  beauties 
of  a  work  is  to  admit,  tacitly,  that  these  beauties 
are  not  wholly  admirable.  Regarding,  then, 
excellence  as  that  which  is  capable  of  self -mani- 
festation, it  but  remains  for  the  critic  to  show 
when,  where,  and  how  it  fails  in  becoming  mani- 
fest; and,  in  this  showing,  it  will  be  the  fault 
of  the  book  itself  if  what  of  beauty  it  contains 
51 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

be  not,  at  least,  placed  in  the  fairest  light.  In 
a  word,  we  may  assume,  notwithstanding  a  vast 
deal  of  pitiable  cant  upon  this  topic,  that  in 
pointing  out  frankly  the  errors  of  a  work,  we  do 
nearly  all  that  is  critically  necessary  in  display- 
ing its  merits.  In  teaching  what  perfection  is, 
how,  in  fact,  shall  we  more  rationally  proceed 
than  in  specifying  what  it  is  not? 

The  plot  of  "Barnaby  Rudge"  runs  thus: 
About  a  hundred  years  ago,  Geoffrey  Haredale 
and  John  Chester  were  schoolmates  in  England, 
the  former  being  the  scapegoat  and  drudge  of 
the  latter.  Leaving  school,  the  boys  become 
friends,  with  much  of  the  old  understanding. 
Haredale  loves;  Chester  deprives  him  of  his 
mistress.  The  one  cherishes  the  most  deadly 
hatred;  the  other  merely  contemns  and  avoids. 
By  routes  widely  different  both  attain  mature 
age.  Haredale,  remembering  his  old  love,  and 
still  cherishing  his  old  hatred,  remains  a  bachelor 
and  is  poor.  Chester,  among  other  crimes,  is 
guilty  of  the  seduction  and  heartless  abandon- 
ment of  a  Gypsy  girl,  who,  after  the  desertion 
of  her  lover,  gives  birth  to  a  son,  and,  falling  into 
evil  courses,  is  finally  hung  at  Tyburn.  The  son 
is  received  and  taken  charge  of  at  an  inn,  called 
the  Maypole,  upon  the  borders  of  Epping  forest 
and  about  twelve  miles  from  London.  This 
inn  is  kept  by  one  John  Willet,  a  burly-headed 
and  very  obtuse  little  man,  who  has  a  son,  Joe, 
52 


DICKENS'S  "  BARNABY  RUDGE  " 

and  who  employs  his  protege,  under  the  single 
name  of  Hugh,  as  perpetual  hostler  at  the  inn. 
Hugh's  father  marries,  in  the  mean  time,  a  rich 
parvenue,  who  soon  dies,  but  not  before  having 
presented  Mr.  Chester  with  a  boy,  Edward.  The 
father  (a  thoroughly  selfish  man-of-the-world, 
whose  model  is  Chesterfield)  educates  this  son  at 
a  distance,  seeing  him  rarely,  and  calling  him  to 
the  paternal  residence,  at  London,  only  when  he 
has  attained  the  age  of  twenty-four  or  five.  He, 
the  father,  has,  long  ere  this  time,  spent  the 
fortune  brought  him  by  his  wife,  having  been  liv- 
ing upon  his  wits  and  a  small  annuity  for  some 
eighteen  years.  The  son  is  recalled  chiefly  that 
by  marrying  an  heiress,  on  the  strength  of  his 
own  personal  merit  and  the  reputed  wealth  of 
old  Chester,  he  may  enable  the  latter  to  continue 
his  gayeties  in  old  age.  But  of  this  design,  as 
well  as  of  his  poverty,  Edward  is  kept  in  igno- 
rance for  some  three  or  four  years  after  his  re- 
call ;  when  the  father's  discovery  of  what  he  con- 
siders an  inexpedient  love-entanglement  on  the 
part  of  the  son  induces  him  to  disclose  the  true 
state  of  his  affairs  as  well  as  the  real  tenor  of  his 
intentions. 

Now  the  love-entanglement  of  which  we  speak 
is  considered  inexpedient  by  Mr.  Chester  for 
two  reasons  —  the  first  of  which  is,  that  the  lady 
beloved  is  the  orphan  niece  of  his  old  enemy, 
Haredale,  and  the  second  is,  that  Haredale 
53 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

(although  in  circumstances  which  have  been 
much  and  very  unexpectedly  improved  during 
the  preceding  twenty-two  years)  is  still  insuffi- 
ciently wealthy  to  meet  the  views  of  Mr.  Chester. 
We  say  that,  about  twenty-two  years  before 
the  period  in  question,  there  came  an  unlooked- 
for  change  in  the  worldly  cricumstances  of 
Haredale.  This  gentleman  has  an  elder  brother, 
Reuben,  who  has  long  possessed  the  family  in- 
heritance of  the  Haredales,  residing  at  a  man- 
sion called  The  Warren,  not  far  from  the  May- 
pole Inn,  which  is  itself  a  portion  of  the  estate. 
Reuben  is  a  widower,  with  one  child,  a  daughter, 
Emma.  Besides  this  daughter,  there  are  living 
with  him  a  gardener,  a  steward  (whose  name  is 
Rudge)  and  two  women  servants,  one  of  whom 
is  the  wife  of  Rudge.  On  the  night  of  the  nine- 
teenth of  March,  1733,  Rudge  murders  his  mas- 
ter for  the  sake  of  a  large  sum  of  money  which 
he  is  known  to  have  in  possession.  During  the 
struggle,  Mr.  Haredale  grasps  the  cord  of  an 
alarm-bell  which  hangs  within  his  reach,  but  suc- 
ceeds in  sounding  it  only  once  or  twice,  when 
it  is  severed  by  the  knife  of  the  ruffian,  who 
then,  completing  his  bloody  business  and  securing 
the  money,  proceeds  to  quit  the  chamber.  While 
doing  this,  however,  he  is  disconcerted  by  meeting 
the  gardener,  whose  pallid  countenance  evinces 
suspicion  of  the  deed  committed.  The  mur- 
derer is  thus  forced  to  kill  his  fellow-servant. 
54 


DICKENS'S  "BARNABY  RUDGE " 

Having  done  so,  the  idea  strikes  him  of  trans- 
ferring the  burden  of  the  crime  from  himself. 
He  dresses  the  corpse  of  the  gardener  in  his 
own  clothes,  puts  upon  its  finger  his  own  ring, 
and  in  its  pocket  his  own  watch,  then  drags  it 
to  a  pond  in  the  grounds,  and  throws  it  in.  He 
now  returns  to  the  house,  and,  disclosing  all  to 
his  wife,  requests  her  to  become  a  partner  in 
his  flight.  Horror-stricken,  she  falls  to  the 
ground.  He  attempts  to  raise  her.  She  seizes 
his  wrist,  staining  her  hand  with  blood  in  the 
attempt.  She  renounces  him  forever;  yet  prom- 
ises to  conceal  the  crime.  Alone,  he  flees  the 
country.  The  next  morning,  Mr.  Haredale 
being  found  murdered,  and  the  steward  and  gar- 
dener being  both  missing,  both  are  suspected. 
Mrs.  Rudge  leaves  The  Warren,  and  retires 
to  an  obscure  lodging  in  London  (where  she 
lives  upon  an  annuity  allowed  her  by  Haredale) 
having  given  birth,  on  the  very  day  after  the 
murder,  to  a  son,  Barnaby  Rudge,  who  proves  an 
idiot,  who  bears  upon  his  wrist  a  red  mark,  and 
who  is  born  possessed  with  a  maniacal  horror 
of  blood. 

Some  months  since  the  assassination  having 
elapsed,  what  appears  to  be  the  corpse  of  Rudge 
is  discovered,  and  the  outrage  is  attributed  to 
the  gardener.  Yet  not  universally :  —  for,  as 
Geoffrey  Haredale  comes  into  possession  of  the 
estate,  there  are  not  wanting  suspicions  (fo- 
55 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

mented  by  Chester)  of  his  own  participation  in 
the  deed.  This  taint  of  suspicion,  acting  upon  his 
hereditary  gloom,  together  with  the  natural  grief 
and  horror  of  the  atrocity,  embitters  the  whole 
life  of  Haredale.  He  secludes  himself  at  The 
Warren,  and  acquires  a  monomaniac  acerbity  of 
temper  relieved  only  by  love  of  his  beautiful 
niece. 

Time  wears  away.  Twenty-two  years  pass  by. 
The  niece  has  ripened  into  womanhood,  and 
loves  young  Chester  without  the  knowledge  of 
her  uncle  or  the  youth's  father.  Hugh  has  grown 
a  stalwart  man  —  the  type  of  man  the  animal, 
as  his  father  is  of  man  the  ultra-civilized.  Rudge, 
the  murderer,  .returns,  urged  to  his  undoing  by 
Fate.  He  appears  at  the  Maypole  and  inquires 
stealthily  of  the  circumstances  which  have  oc- 
curred at  The  Warren  in  his  absence.  He  pro- 
ceeds to  London,  discovers  the  dwelling  of  his 
wife,  threatens  her  with  the  betrayal  of  her  idiot 
son  into  vice  and  extorts  from  her  the  bounty 
of  Haredale.  Revolting  at  such  appropriation 
of  such  means,  the  widow,  with  Barnaby,  again 
seeks  The  Warren,  renounces  the  annuity,  and, 
refusing  to  assign  any  reason  for  her  conduct, 
states  her  intention  of  quitting  London  forever, 
and  of  burying  herself  in  some  obscure  retreat 
—  a  retreat  which  she  begs  Haredale  not  to  at- 
tempt discovering.  When  he  seeks  her  in  Lon- 
don the  next  day,  she  is  gone;  and  there  are  no 
56 


DICKENS'S  "  BARNABY  RUDGE  » 

tidings,  either  of  herself  or  of  Barnaby,  until 
the  expiration  of  five  years  —  which  bring  the 
time  up  to  that  of  the  celebrated  "  No  Popery  " 
riots  of  Lord  George  Gordon. 

In  the  mean  while,  and  immediately  subse- 
quent to  the  reappearance  of  Rudge,  Haredale 
and  the  elder  Chester,  each  heartily  desirous  of 
preventing  the  union  of  Edward  and  Emma, 
have  entered  into  a  covenant,  the  result  of  which 
is  that,  by  means  of  treachery  on  the  part  of 
Chester,  permitted  on  that  of  Haredale,  the  lov- 
ers misunderstand  each  other  and  are  estranged. 
Joe,  also,  the  son  of  the  innkeeper,  Willet,  hav- 
ing been  coquetted  with,  to  too  great  an  extent, 
by  Dolly  Varden  (the  pretty  daughter  of  one 
Gabriel  Varden,  a  locksmith  of  Clerkenwell, 
London),  and  having  been  otherwise  maltreated 
at  home,  enlists  in  His  Majesty's  army  and  is 
carried  beyond  seas,  to  America,  not  returning 
until  toward  the  close  of  the  riots.  Just  before 
their  commencement,  Rudge,  in  a  midnight  prowl 
about  the  scene  of  his  atrocity,  is  encountered 
by  an  individual  who  had  been  familiar  with  him 
in  earlier  life,  while  living  at  The  Warren.  This 
individual,  terrified  at  what  he  supposes,  very 
naturally,  to  be  the  ghost  of  the  murdered  Rudge, 
relates  his  adventure  to  his  companions  at  the 
Maypole,  and  John  Willet  conveys  the  intelli- 
gence, forthwith,  to  Mr.  Haredale.  Connecting 
the  apparition,  in  his  own  mind,  with  the  peculiar 
57 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

conduct  of  Mrs.  Rudge,  this  gentleman  imbibes  a 
suspicion,  at  once,  of  the  true  state  of  affairs. 
This  suspicion  (which  he  mentions  to  no  one) 
is,  moreover,  very  strongly  confirmed  by  an  oc- 
currence happening  to  Varden,  the  locksmith, 
who,  visiting  the  woman  late  one  night,  finds  her 
in  communion  of  a  nature  apparently  most  con- 
fidential with  a  ruffian  whom  the  locksmith  knows 
to  be  such,  without  knowing  the  man  himself. 
Upon  an  attempt,  on  the  part  of  Varden,  to 
seize  this  ruffian,  he  is  thwarted  by  Mrs.  Rudge ; 
and  upon  Haredale's  inquiring  minutely  into 
the  personal  appearance  of  the  man,  he  is  found 
to  accord  with  Rudge.  We  have  already  shown 
that  the  ruffian  was  in  fact  Rudge  himself.  Act- 
ing upon  the  suspicion  thus  aroused,  Haredale 
watches,  by  night,  alone,  in  the  deserted  house 
formerly  occupied  by  Mrs.  Rudge  in  hope  of  here 
coming  upon  the  murderer,  and  makes  other 
exertions  with  the  view  of  arresting  him ;  but  all 
in  vain. 

It  is,  also,  at  the  conclusion  of  the  five  years, 
that  the  hitherto  uninvaded  retreat  of  Mrs. 
Rudge  is  disturbed  by  a  message  from  her  hus- 
band, demanding  money.  He  has  discovered 
her  abode  by  accident.  Giving  him  what  she 
has  at  the  time,  she  afterwards  eludes  him,  and 
hastens,  with  Barnaby,  to  bury  herself  in  the 
crowd  of  London,  until  she  can  find  opportunity 
again  to  seek  retreat  in  some  more  distant  region 
58 


DICKENS'S  "  BARNABY  RUDGE  » 

of  England.  But  the  riots  have  now  begun. 
The  idiot  is  beguiled  into  joining  the  mob,  and, 
becoming  separated  from  his  mother  (who,  grow- 
ing ill  through  grief,  is  borne  to  a  hospital) 
meets  with  his  old  playmate  Hugh,  and  becomes 
with  him  a  ringleader  in  the  rebellion. 

The  riots  proceed.  A  conspicuous  part  is 
borne  in  them  by  one  Simon  Tappertit,  a  fan- 
tastic and  conceited  little  apprentice  of  Varden's, 
and  a  sworn  enemy  to  Joe  Willet,  who  has  rival- 
led him  in  the  affection  of  Dolly.  A  hangman, 
Dennis,  is  also  very  busy  amid  the  mob.  Lord 
George  Gordon,  and  his  secretary,  Gashford, 
with  John  Grueby,  his  servant,  appear,  of  course, 
upon  the  scene.  Old  Chester,  who,  during  the 
five  years,  has  become  Sir  John,  instigates  Gash- 
ford,  who  has  received  personal  insult  from 
Haredale  (a  Catholic  and  consequently  ob- 
noxious to  the  mob)  — instigates  Gashford  to 
procure  the  burning  of  The  Warren,  and  to 
abduct  Emma  during  the  excitement  ensuing. 
The  mansion  is  burned  (Hugh,  who  also  fancies 
himself  wronged  by  Haredale,  being  chief  actor 
in  the  outrage),  and  Miss  Haredale  carried  off 
in  company  with  Dolly,  who  had  long  lived  with 
her,  and  whom  Tappertit  abducts  upon  his  own 
responsibility.  Rudge,  in  the  mean  time,  finding 
the  eye  of  Haredale  upon  him  (since  he  has 
become  aware  of  the  watch  kept  nightly  at  his 
wife's),  goaded  by  the  dread  of  solitude,  and 
59 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

fancying  that  his  sole  chance  of  safety  lies  in 
joining  the  rioters,  hurries  upon  their  track  to 
the  doomed  Warren.  He  arrives  too  late;  the 
mob  have  departed.  Skulking  about  the  ruins, 
he  is  discovered  by  Haredale  and  finally  cap- 
tured, without  a  struggle,  within  the  glowing 
walls  of  the  very  chamber  in  which  the  deed  was 
committed.  He  is  conveyed  to  prison,  where 
he  meets  and  recognizes  Barnaby,  who  had  been 
captured  as  a  rioter.  The  mob  assail  and  burn 
the  jail.  The  father  and  son  escape.  Betrayed 
by  Dennis,  both  are  again  retaken,  and  Hugh 
shares  their  fate.  In  Newgate,  Dennis,  through 
accident,  discovers  the  parentage  of  Hugh,  and 
an  effort  is  made  in  vain  to  interest  Chester  in 
behalf  of  his  son.  Finally,  Varden  procures  the 
pardon  of  Barnaby;  but  Hugh,  Rudge,  and  Den- 
nis are  hung.  At  the  eleventh  hour,  Joe  returns 
from  abroad  with  one  arm.  In  company  with 
Edward  Chester,  he  performs  prodigies  of  valor 
(during  the  last  riots)  on  behalf  of  the  govern- 
ment. The  two,  with  Haredale  and  Varden, 
rescue  Emma  and  Dolly.  A  double  marriage, 
of  course,  takes  place;  for  Dolly  has  repented 
her  fine  airs,  and  the  prejudices  of  Haredale  are 
overcome.  Having  killed  Chester  in  a  duel,  he 
quits  England  forever,  and  ends  his  days  in  the 
seclusion  of  an  Italian  convent.  Thus,  after 
summary  disposal  of  the  understrappers,  ends 
the  drama  of  "  Barnaby  Rudge." 
60 


DICKENS'S  "  BARNABY  RUDGE  » 

We  have  given,  as  may  well  be  supposed,  but 
a  very  meagre  outline  of  the  story,  and  we  have 
given  it  in  the  simple  or  natural  sequence.  That 
is  to  say,  we  have  related  the  events,  as  nearly 
as  might  be,  in  the  order  of  their  occurrence. 
But  this  order  would  by  no  means  have  suited  the 
purpose  of  the  novelist,  whose  design  has  been  to 
maintain  the  secret  of  the  murder,  and  the  con- 
sequent mystery  which  encircles  Rudge,  and  the 
actions  of  his  wife,  until  the  catastrophe  of  his 
discovery  by  Haredale.  The  thesis  of  the  novel 
may  thus  be  regarded  as  based  upon  curiosity. 
Every  point  is  so  arranged  as  to  perplex  the 
reader,  and  whet  his  desire  for  elucidation:  — 
for  example,  the  first  appearance  of  Rudge  at 
the  Maypole;  his  questions;  his  persecution  of 
Mrs.  Rudge ;  the  ghost  seen  by  the  frequenter  of 
the  Maypole;  and  Haredale's  impressive  conduct 
in  consequence.  What  we  have  told,  in  the 
very  beginning  of  our  digest,  in  regard  to  the 
shifting  of  the  gardener's  dress,  is  sedulously 
kept  from  the  reader's  knowledge  until  he  learns 
it  from  Rudge's  own  confession  in  jail.  We 
say  sedulously;  for,  the  intention  once  known, 
the  traces  of  the  design  can  be  found  upon  every 
page.  There  is  an  amusing  and  exceedingly  in- 
genious instance  at  page  145,  where  Solomon 
Daisy  describes  his  adventure  with  the  ghost. 

"  *  It  was  a  ghost  —  a  spirit,'  cried  Daisy. 
"  '  Whose  ?  '  they  all  three  asked  together. 
61 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

"  In  the  excess  of  his  emotion  (for  he  fell  back  trem- 
bling in  his  chair  and  waved  his  hand  as  if  entreating 
them  to  question  him  no  farther)  his  answer  was  lost 
upon  all  but  old  John  Willet,  who  happened  to  be  seated 
close  beside  him. 

"'Who?'  — cried  Parkes  and  Tom  Cobb  —  'Who 
was  it? 

"  *  Gentlemen,'  said  Mr.  Willet,  after  a  long  pause, 
*  you  need  n't  ask.  The  likeness  of  a  murdered  man. 
This  is  the  nineteenth  of  March.' 

"  A  profound  silence  ensued." 

The  impression  here  skilfully  conveyed  is, 
that  the  ghost  seen  is  that  of  Reuben  Hare- 
dale;  and  the  mind  of  the  not-too-acute  reader 
is  at  once  averted  from  the  true  state  of  the 
case  —  from  the  murderer,  Rudge,  living  in  the 
body. 

Now  there  can  be  no  question  that,  by  such 
means  as  these,  many  points  which  are  compara- 
tively insipid  in  the  natural  sequence  of  our 
digest,  and  which  would  have  been  compara- 
tively insipid  even  if  given  in  full  detail  in  a 
natural  sequence,  are  endued  with  the  interest 
of  mystery;  but  neither  can  it  be  denied  that  a 
vast  many  more  points  are  at  the  same  time  de- 
prived of  all  effect,  and  become  null,  through  the 
impossibility  of  comprehending  them  without  the 
key.  The  author,  who,  cognizant  of  his  plot, 
writes  with  this  cognizance  continually  operat- 
ing upon  him,  and  thus  writes  to  himself  in  spite 
of  himself,  does  not,  of  course,  feel  that  much 
62 


DICKENS'S  "  BARNABY  RUDGE  " 

of  what  is  effective  to  his  own  informed  per- 
ception must  necessarily  be  lost  upon  his  unin- 
formed readers;  and  he  himself  is  never  in  con- 
dition, as  regards  his  own  work,  to  bring  the 
matter  to  test.  But  the  reader  may  easily  satisfy 
himself  of  the  validity  of  our  objection.  Let 
him  re- peruse  "  Barnaby  Rudge  "  —  and  with  a 
pre-comprehension  of  the  mystery,  these  points 
of  which  we  speak  break  out  in  all  directions 
like  stars,  and  throw  quadruple  brilliance  over 
the  narrative,  a  brilliance  which  a  correct  taste 
will  at  once  declare  unprofitably  sacrificed  at 
the  shrine  of  the  keenest  interest  of  mere  mystery. 
The  design  of  mystery,  however,  being  once 
determined  upon  by  an  author,  it  becomes  im- 
perative, first,  that  no  undue  or  inartistical  means 
be  employed  to  conceal  the  secret  of  the  plot;  and, 
secondly,  that  the  secret  be  well  kept.  Now, 
when,  at  page  16,  we  read  that  "  the  body  of  poor 
Mr.  Rudge,  the  steward,  was  found"  months 
after  the  outrage,  etc.,  we  see  that  Mr.  Dickens 
has  been  guilty  of  no  misdemeanor  against  Art 
in  stating  what  was  not  the  fact;  since  the  false- 
hood is  put  into  the  mouth  of  Solomon  Daisy, 
and  given  merely  as  the  impression  of  this  in- 
dividual and  of  the  public.  The  writer  has  not 
asserted  it  in  his  own  person,  but  ingeniously 
conveyed  an  idea  (false  in  itself,  yet  a  belief  in 
which  is  necessary  for  the  effect  of  the  tale)  by 
the  mouth  of  one  of  his  characters.  The  case  is 
63 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

different,  however,  when  Mrs.  Rudge  is  repeat- 
edly denominated  "  the  widow."  It  is  the  author 
who,  himself,  frequently  so  terms  her.  This  is 
disingenuous  and  inartistical ;  accidently  so,  of 
course.  We  speak  of  the  matter  merely  by  way 
of  illustrating  our  point,  and  as  an  oversight  on 
the  part  of  Mr.  Dickens. 

That  the  secret  be  well  kept  is  obviously  neces- 
sary. A  failure  to  preserve  it  until  the  proper 
moment  of  denouement,  throws  all  into  confu- 
sion, so  far  as  regards  the  effect  intended.  If 
the  mystery  leak  out,  against  the  author's  will, 
his  purposes  are  immediately  at  odds  and  ends; 
for  he  proceeds  upon  the  supposition  that  certain 
impressions  do  exist,  which  do  not  exist,  in  the 
mind  of  his  readers.  We  are  not  prepared  to 
say,  so  positively  as  we  could  wish,  whether,  by 
the  public  at  large,  the  whole  mystery  of  the 
murder  committed  by  Rudge,  with  the  identity 
of  the  Maypole  ruffian  with  Rudge  himself,  was 
fathomed  at  any  period  previous  to  the  period 
intended,  or,  if  so,  whether  at  a  period  so  early 
as  materially  to  interfere  with  the  interest  de- 
signed; but  we  are  forced,  through  sheer  mod- 
esty, to  suppose  this  the  case ;  since,  by  ourselves 
individually,  the  secret  was  distinctly  understood 
immediately  upon  the  perusal  of  the  story  of 
Solomon  Daisy,  which  occurs  at  the  seventh 
page  of  this  volume  of  three  hundred  and  twenty- 
three.  In  the  number  of  the  Philadelphia 
64 


DICKENS'S  "BARNABY  RUDGE " 

"  Saturday  Evening  Post,"  for  May  the  first, 
1841  (the  tale  having  then  only  begun)  will  be 
found  a  prospective  notice  of  some  length,  in 
which  we  made  use  of  the  following  words :  — 

That  Barnaby  is  the  son  of  the  murderer  may  not 
appear  evident  to  our  readers  —  but  we  will  explain. 
The  person  murdered  is  Mr.  Reuben  Haredale.  He 
was  found  assassinated  in  his  bed-chamber.  His  stew- 
ard (Mr.  Rudge,  senior)  and  his  gardener  (name  not 
mentioned)  are  missing.  At  first  both  are  suspected. 
"  Some  months  afterward  "  —  here  we  use  the  words  of 
the  story  —  "  the  steward's  body,  scarcely  to  be  recog- 
nized but  by  his  clothes  and  the  watch  and  ring  he  wore, 
was  found  at  the  bottom  of  a  piece  of  water  in  the 
grounds,  with  a  deep  gash  in  the  breast,  where  he  had 
been  stabbed  by  a  knife.  He  was  only  partly  dressed ; 
and  all  people  agreed  that  he  had  been  sitting  up  read- 
ing in  his  own  room,  where  there  were  many  traces  of 
blood,  and  was  suddenly  fallen  upon  and  killed,  before 
his  master." 

Now,  be  it  observed,  it  is  not  the  author  himself  who 
asserts  that  the  steward's  body  was  found;  he  has  put 
the  words  in  the  mouth  of  one  of  his  characters.  His 
design  is  to  make  it  appear,  in  the  denouement,  that  the 
steward,  Rudge,  first  murdered  the  gardener,  then  went 
to  his  master's  chamber,  murdered  him,  was  interrupted 
by  his  (Rudge's)  wife,  whom  he  seized  and  held  by  the 
wrist,  to  prevent  her  giving  the  alarm  —  that  he  then, 
after  possessing  himself  of  the  booty  desired,  returned 
to  the  gardener's  room,  exchanged  clothes  with  him, 
put  upon  the  corpse  his  own  watch  and  ring,  and  se- 
creted it  where  it  was  afterwards  discovered  at  so  late 
a  period  that  the  features  could  not  be  identified. 

The    differences    between    our    preconceived 
65 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

ideas,  as  here  stated,  and  the  actual  facts  of  the 
story,  will  be  found  immaterial.  The  gardener 
was  murdered,  not  before  but  after  his  master; 
and  that  Rudge's  wife  seized  him  by  the  wrist, 
instead  of  his  seizing  her,  has  so  much  the  air  of 
a  mistake  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Dickens,  that  we 
can  scarcely  speak  of  our  own  version  as  erro- 
neous. The  grasp  of  a  murderer's  bloody  hand 
on  the  wrist  of  a  woman  enceinte,  would  have 
been  more  likely  to  produce  the  effect  described 
(and  this  every  one  will  allow)  than  the  grasp  of 
the  hand  of  the  woman  upon  the  wrist  of  the 
assassin.  We  may  therefore  say  of  our  supposi- 
tion as  Talleyrand  said  of  some  cockney's  bad 
French  —  que  s'il  ne  soit  pas  Francois,  assure- 
ment  done  il  le  doit  £tre —  that  if  we  did  not 
rightly  prophesy,  yet,  at  least,  our  prophecy 
should  have  been  right. 

We  are  informed  in  the  Preface  to  "  Barnaby 
Rudge  "  that  "  no  account  of  the  Gordon  Riots 
having  been  introduced  into  any  work  of  fiction, 
and  the  subject  presenting  very  extraordinary 
and  remarkable  features,"  our  author  "  was  led 
to  project  this  tale."  But  for  this  distinct  an- 
nouncement (for  Mr.  Dickens  can  scarcely  have 
deceived  himself)  we  should  have  looked  upon 
the  riots  as  altogether  an  afterthought.  It  is  evi- 
dent that  they  have  no  necessary  connection  with 
the  story.  In  our  digest,  which  carefully  includes 
all  essentials  of  the  plot,  we  have  dismissed  the 
66 


DICKENS'S  "  BARNABY  RUDGE  " 

doings  of  the  mob  in  a  paragraph.  The  whole 
event  of  the  drama  would  have  proceeded  as  well 
without  as  with  them.  They  have  even  the  ap- 
pearance of  being  forcibly  introduced.  In  our 
compendium  above,  it  will  be  seen  that  we  em- 
phasized several  allusions  to  an  interval  of  five 
years.  The  action  is  brought  up  to  a  certain 
point.  The  train  of  events  is,  so  far,  uninter- 
rupted—  nor  is  there  any  apparent  need  of 
interruption  —  yet  all  the  characters  are  now 
thrown  forward  for  a  period  of  five  years.  And 
why?  We  ask  in  vain.  It  is  not  to  bestow  upon 
the  lovers  a  more  decorous  maturity  of  age  — 
for  this  is  the  only  possible  idea  which  suggests 
itself  —  Edward  Chester  is  already  eight-and- 
twenty,  and  Emma  Haredale  would,  in  America 
at  least,  be  upon  the  list  of  old  maids.  No  — 
there  is  no  such  reason ;  nor  does  there  appear  to 
be  any  one  more  plausible  than  that,  as  it  is  now 
the  year  of  our  Lord  1775,  an  advance  of  five 
years  will  bring  the  dramatis  personce  up  to  a 
very  remarkable  period,  affording  an  admirable 
opportunity  for  their  display  —  the  period,  in 
short,  of  the  "  No  Popery  "  riots.  This  was  the 
idea  with  which  we  were  forcibly  impressed  in 
perusal,  and  which  nothing  less  than  Mr. 
Dickens's  positive  assurance  to  the  contrary 
would  have  been  sufficient  to  eradicate. 

It  is,  perhaps,  but  one  of  a  thousand  instances 
of  the  disadvantages,  both  to  the  author  and 
67 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

the  public,  of  the  present  absurd  fashion  of  pe- 
riodical novel-writing,  that  our  author  had  not 
sufficiently  considered  or  determined  upon  any 
particular  plot  when  he  began  the  story  now 
under  review.  In  fact,  we  see,  or  fancy  that  we 
see,  numerous  traces  of  indecision  —  traces  which 
a  dexterous  supervision  of  the  complete  work 
might  have  enabled  him  to  erase.  We  have  al- 
ready spoken  of  the  intermission  of  a  lustrum. 
The  opening  speeches  of  old  Chester  are  by  far 
too  truly  gentlemanly  for  his  subsequent  char- 
acter. The  wife  of  Vardon,  also,  is  too  whole- 
sale a  shrew  to  be  converted  into  the  quiet  wife 
—  the  original  design  was  to  punish  her.  At 
page  16,  we  read  thus  —  Solomon  Daisy  is  tel- 
ling his  story:  — 

"  '  I  put  as  good  a  face  upon  it  as  I  could,  and, 
muffling  myself  up,  started  out  with  a  lighted  lantern 
in  one  hand  and  the  key  of  the  church  in  the  other '  — 
at  this  point  of  the  narrative,  the  dress  of  the  strange 
man  rustled  as  if  he  had  turned  to  hear  more  distinctly." 

Here  the  design  is  to  call  the  reader's  atten- 
tion to  a  point  in  the  tale;  but  no  subsequent 
explanation  is  made.  Again,  a  few  lines  be- 
low:— 

"  The  houses  were  all  shut  up,  and  the  folks  in  doors, 
and  perhaps  there  is  only  one  man  in  the  world  who 
knows  how  dark  it  really  was." 

Here  the  intention  is  still  more  evident,  but 
68 


DICKENS'S  "  BARNABY  RUDGE  » 

there  is  no  result.  Again,  at  page  54,  the  idiot 
draws  Mr.  Chester  to  the  window,  and  directs 
his  attention  to  the  clothes  hanging  upon  the 
lines  in  the  yard  — 

" '  Look  down,'  he  said  softly ;  *  do  you  mark  how 
they  whisper  in  each  other's  ears,  then  dance  and  leap 
to  make  believe  they  are.in  sport  ?  Do  you  see  how  they 
stop  for  a  moment,  when  they  think  there  is  no  one  look- 
ing, and  mutter  among  themselves  again;  and  then 
how  they  roll  and  gambol,  delighted  with  the  mischief 
they've  been  plotting?  Look  at  'em  now!  See  how 
they  whirl  and  plunge.  And  now  they  stop  again,  and 
whisper  cautiously  together  —  little  thinking,  mind, 
how  often  I  have  lain  upon  the  ground  and  watched 
them.  I  say — what  is  it  that  they  plot  and  hatch? 
Do  you  know  ?  ' ' 

Upon  perusal  of  these  ravings,  we  at  once 
supposed  them  to  have  allusion  to  some  real  plot- 
ting; and  even  now  we  cannot  force  ourselves  to 
believe  them  not  so  intended.  They  suggested 
the  opinion  that  Haredale  himself  would  be  im- 
plicated in  the  murder,  and  that  the  counsellings 
alluded  to  might  be  those  of  that  gentleman 
with  Rudge.  It  is  by  no  means  impossible  that 
some  such  conception  wavered  in  the  mind  of 
the  author.  At  page  32  we  have  a  confirmation 
of  our  idea,  when  Varden  endeavors  to  arrest 
the  murderer  in  the  house  of  his  wife  — 

"  '  Come  back  —  come  back ! '  exclaimed  the  woman, 
wrestling  with  and  clasping  him.     *  Do  not  touch  him, 
on  your  life.    He  carries  other  lives  besides  his  own.9 " 
69 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

The  denouement  fails  to  account  for  this  ex- 
clamation. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  story  much  emphasis 
is  placed  upon  the  two  female  servants  of  Hare- 
dale,  and  upon  his  journey  to  and  from  London, 
as  well  as  upon  his  wife.  We  have  merely  said, 
in  our  digest,  that  he  was  a  widower,  italicising 
the  remark.  All  these  other  points  are,  in  fact, 
singularly  irrelevant,  in  the  supposition  that  the 
original  design  has  not  undergone  modifica- 
tion. 

Again,  at  page  57,  when  Haredale  talks  of 
"  his  dismantled  and  beggared  hearth,"  we  can- 
not help  fancying  that  the  author  had  in  view 
some  different  wrong,  or  series  of  wrongs,  per- 
petrated by  Chester,  than  any  which  appear  in 
the  end.  This  gentleman,  too,  takes  extreme  and 
frequent  pains  to  acquire  dominion  over  the 
rough  Hugh  —  this  matter  is  particularly  insisted 
upon  by  the  novelist  —  we  look,  of  course,  for 
some  important  result,  but  the  filching  of  a 
letter  is  nearly  all  that  is  accomplished.  That 
Barnaby's  delight  in  the  desperate  scenes  of  the 
rebellion  is  inconsistent  with  his  horror  of  blood, 
will  strike  every  reader;  and  this  inconsistency 
seems  to  be  the  consequence  of  the  after-thought 
upon  which  we  have  already  commented.  In 
fact,  the  title  of  the  work,  the  elaborate  and 
pointed  manner  of  the  commencement,  the  im- 
pressive description  of  The  Warren,  and  especi- 
70 


DICKENS'S  "  BARNABY  RUDGE  " 

ally  of  Mrs.  Rudge,  go  far  to  show  that  Mr. 
Dickens  has  really  deceived  himself  —  that  the 
soul  of  the  plot,  as  originally  conceived,  was  the 
murder  of  Haredale,  with  the  subsequent  dis- 
covery of  the  murderer  in  Rudge,  but  that  this 
idea  was  afterwards  abandoned,  or  rather  suf- 
fered to  be  merged  in  that  of  the  Popish  riots. 
The  result  has  been  most  unfavorable.  That 
which,  of  itself,  would  have  proved  highly  effec- 
tive, has  been  rendered  nearly  null  by  its  situa- 
tion. In  the  multitudinous  outrage  and  horror 
of  the  Rebellion,  the  one  atrocity  is  utterly 
whelmed  and  extinguished. 

The  reasons  of  this  deflection  from  the  first 
purpose  appear  to  us  self-evident.  One  of  them 
we  have  already  mentioned.  The  other  is  that 
our  author  discovered,  when  too  late,  that  he  had 
anticipated,  and  thus  rendered  valueless,  his  chief 
effect.  This  will  be  readily  understood.  The 
particulars  of  the  assassination  being  withheld, 
the  strength  of  the  narrator  is  put  forth,  in  the 
beginning  of  the  story,  to  whet  curiosity  in  re- 
spect to  these  particulars ;  and,  so  far,  he  is  but 
in  proper  pursuance  of  his  main  design.  But 
from  this  intention  he  unwittingly  passes  into 
the  error  of  exaggerating  anticipation.  And 
error  though  it  be,  it  is  an  error  wrought  with 
consummate  skill.  What,  for  example,  could 
more  vividly  enhance  our  impression  of  the  un- 
known horror  enacted,  than  the  deep  and  endur- 
71 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

ing  gloom  of  Haredale  —  than  the  idiot's  inborn 
awe  of  blood  —  or,  especially,  than  the  expres- 
sion of  countenance  so  imaginatively  attributed 
to  Mrs.  Rudge  —  "  the  capacity  for  expressing 
terror  —  something  only  dimly  seen,  but  never 
absent  for  a  moment  —  the  shadow  of  some  look 
to  which  an  instant  of  intense  and  most  unut- 
terable horror  only  could  have  given  rise?  "  But 
it  is  a  condition  of  the  human  fancy  that  the 
promises  of  such  words  are  irredeemable.  In  the 
notice  before  mentioned  we  thus  spoke  upon  this 
topic :  — 

This  is  a  conception  admirably  adapted  to  whet  curi- 
osity in  respect  to  the  character  of  that  event  which  is 
hinted  at  as  forming  the  basis  of  the  story.  But  this 
observation  should  not  fail  to  be  made  —  that  the  an- 
ticipation must  surpass  the  reality ;  that  no  matter  how 
terrific  be  the  circumstances  which,  in  the  denouement, 
shall  appear  to  have  occasioned  the  expression  of  coun- 
tenance worn  habitually  by  Mrs.  Rudge,  still  they  will 
not  be  able  to  satisfy  the  mind  of  the  reader.  He  will 
surely  be  disappointed.  The  skilful  intimation  of  hor- 
ror held  out  by  the  artist  produces  an  effect  which  will 
deprive  his  conclusion  of  all.  These  intimations  — 
these  dark  hints  of  some  uncertain  evil  —  are  often 
rhetorically  praised  as  effective,  but  are  only  justly  so 
praised  where  there  is  no  denouement  whatever  —  where 
the  reader's  imagination  is  left  to  clear  up  the  mys- 
tery for  itself;  and  this  is  not  the  design  of  Mr. 
Dickens. 

And,  in  fact,  our  author  was  not  long  in  seeing 
his  precipitancy.  He  had  placed  himself  in  a 

72 


DICKENS'S  "  BARNABY  RUDGE  " 

dilemma  from  which  even  his  high  genius  could 
not  extricate  him.  He  at  once  shifts  the  main 
interest,  and  in  truth  we  do  not  see  what  better 
he  could  have  done.  The  reader's  attention  be- 
comes absorbed  in  the  riots,  and  he  fails  to  ob- 
serve that  what  should  have  been  the  true  catas- 
trophy  of  the  novel  is  exceedingly  feeble  and 
ineffective. 

A  few  cursory  remarks:  —  Mr.  Dickens  fails 
peculiarly  in  pure  narration.  See,  for  example, 
page  296,  where  the  connection  of  Hugh  and 
Chester  is  detailed  by  Varden.  See  also  in  "  The 
Old  Curiosity  Shop,"  where,  when  the  result  is 
fully  known,  so  many  words  are  occupied  in 
explaining  the  relationship  of  the  brothers.  The 
effect  of  the  present  narrative  might  have  been 
materially  increased  by  confining  the  action 
within  the  limits  of  London.  The  "  Notre  Dame  " 
of  Hugo  affords  a  fine  example  of  the  force 
which  can  be  gained  by  concentration,  or  unity 
of  place.  ^The  unity  of  time  is  also  sadly  ne- 
glected, to  no  purpose,  in  "  Barnaby  Rudge." 
That  Rudge"  should  so  long  and  so  deeply  feel 
the  sting  of  conscience  is  inconsistent  with  his 
brutality.  On  page  15,  the  interval  elapsing 
between  the  murder  and  Rudge's  return  is 
variously  stated  at  twenty-two  and  twenty- 
four  years.  It  may  be  asked  why  the  inmates 
of  The  Warren  failed  to  hear  the  alarm-bell 
which  was  heard  by  Solomon  Daisy.  The  idea 
73 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

of  persecution  by  being  tracked,  as  by  blood- 
hounds, from  one  spot  of  quietude  to  another, 
is  a  favorite  one  with  Mr.  Dickens.  Its  effect 
cannot  be  denied.  The  stain  upon  Barnaby's 
wrist,  caused  by  fright  in  the  mother  at  so  late 
a  period  of  gestation  as  one  day  before  mature 
parturition,  is  shockingly  at  war  with  all  medi- 
cal experience.  When  Rudge,  escaped  from 
prison,  unshackled,  with  money  at  command, 
is  in  agony  at  his  wife's  refusal  to  perjure  her- 
self for  his  salvation  —  is  it  not  queer  that  he 
should  demand  any  other  salvation  than  lay  in 
his  heels? 

Some  of  the  conclusions  of  chapters  —  see 
pages  40  and  100  —  seem  to  have  been  written 
for  the  mere  purpose  of  illustrating  tail-pieces. 

The  leading  idiosyncrasy  of  Mr.  Dickens's 
remarkable  humor,  is  to  be  found  in  his  trans- 
lating the  language  of  gesture,  or  action,  or  tone. 
For  example  — 

"  The  cronies  nodded  to  each  other,  and  Mr.  Parkes 
remarked  in  an  undertone,  shaking  his  head  mean- 
while, as  who  should  say  '  let  no  man  contradict  me,  for 
I  won't  believe  him,'  that  Willet  was  in  amazing  force 
to-night." 

The  riots  form  a  series  of  vivid  pictures  never 
surpassed.  At  page  17,  the  road  between  Lon- 
don and  the  Maypole  is  described  as  a  horribly 
rough  and  dangerous,  and  at  page  97,  as  an  un- 
commonly smooth  and  convenient  one.  At  page 
74 


DICKENS'S  "  BARNABY  RUDGE  " 

116,  how  comes  Chester  in  possession  of  the  key 
of  Mrs.  Rudge's  vacated  house? 

Mr.  Dickens's  English  is  usually  pure.  His 
most  remarkable  error  is  that  of  employing  the 
adverb  "  directly  "  in  the  sense  of  "  as  soon  as." 
For  example  —  "Directly  he  arrived,  Rudge 
said,"  etc.  Bulwer  is  uniformly  guilty  of  the 
same  blunder. 

It  is  observable  that  so  original  a  stylist  as 
our  author  should  occasionally  lapse  into  a  gross 
imitation  of  what,  itself,  is  a  gross  imitation. 
We  mean  the  manner  of  Lamb  —  a  manner 
based  in  the  Latin  construction.  For  example  — 

"  In  summer  time  its  pumps  suggest  to  thirsty  idlers 
springs  cooler  and  more  sparkling  and  deeper  than 
other  wells ;  and  as  they  trace  the  spillings  of  full  pitch- 
ers on  the  heated  ground,  they  snuff  the  freshness,  and, 
sighing,  cast  sad  looks  towards  the  Thames,  and  think 
of  baths  and  boats,  and  saunter  on,  despondent." 

The  wood-cut  designs  which  accompany  the 
edition  before  us  are  occasionally  good.  The 
copper  engravings  are  pitiably  ill-conceived  and 
ill-drawn;  and  not  only  this,  but  are  in  broad 
contradiction  of  the  wood-designs  and  text. 

There  are  many  coincidences  wrought  into  the 
narrative  —  those,  for  example,  which  relate  to 
the  nineteenth  of  March;  the  dream  of  Barnaby, 
respecting  his  father,  at  the  very  period  when  his 
father  is  actually  in  the  house;  and  the  dream 
of  Haredale  previous  to  his  final  meeting  with 
75 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

Chester.  These  things  are  meant  to  insinuate  a 
fatality  which,  very  properly,  is  not  expressed 
in  plain  terms ;  but  it  is  questionable  whether  the 
story  derives  more  in  ideality  from  their  intro- 
duction than  it  might  have  gained  of  verisimili- 
tude from  their  omission. 

The  dramatis  personce  sustain  the  high  fame 
;of  Mr.  Dickens  as  a  delineator  of  character. 
Miggs,  the  disconsolate  handmaiden  of  Varden; 
Tappertit,  his  chivalrous  apprentice;  Mrs.  Var- 
den, herself ;  and  Dennis,  a  hangman  —  may  be 
regarded  as  original  caricatures,  of  the  high- 
est merit  as  such.  Their  traits  are  founded 
in  acute  observation  of  nature,  but  are  ex- 
aggerated to  the  utmost  admissible  extent. 
Miss  Haredale  and  Edward  Chester  are  com- 
monplaces—  no  effort  has  been  made  in  their 
behalf.  Joe  Willet  is  a  naturally  drawn  coun- 
try youth.  Stagg  is  a  mere  makeweight.  Gash- 
ford  and  Gordon  are  truthfully  copied.  Dolly 
Varden  is  truth  itself.  Haredale,  Rudge*  and 
Mrs.  Rudge  are  impressive  only  through  the  cir- 
cumstances which  surround  them.  Sir  John 
Chester  is,  of  course,  not  original,  but  is  a  vast 
improvement  upon  all  his  predecessors ;  his  heart- 
lessness  is  rendered  somewhat  too  amusing,  and 
his  end  too  much  that  of  a  man  of  honor.  Hugh 
is  a  noble  conception.  His  fierce  exultation  in 
his  animal  powers ;  his  subserviency  to  the  smooth 
Chester;  his  mirthful  contempt  and  patronage 
76 


DICKENS'S  "BARNABY  RUDGE" 

of  Tappertit,  and  his  brutal  yet  firm  courage  in 
the  hour  of  death  —  form  a  picture  to  be  set  in 
diamonds.  Old  Willet  is  not  surpassed  by  any 
character  even  among  those  of  Dickens.  He  is 
nature  itself;  yet  a  step  farther  would  have 
placed  him  in  the  class  of  caricatures.  His  com- 
bined conceit  and  obtusity  are  indescribably 
droll,  and  his  peculiar  misdirected  energy  when 
aroused  is  one  of  the  most  exquisite  touches  in 
all  humorous  painting.  We  shall  never  forget 
how  heartily  we  laughed  at  his  shaking  Solomon 
Daisy  and  threatening  to  put  him  behind  the 
fire,  because  the  unfortunate  little  man  was  too 
much  frightened  to  articulate.  Varden  is  one 
of  those  free,  jovial,  honest  fellows,  at  charity 
with  all  mankind,  whom  our  author  is  so  fond  of 
depicting,  (jlnd  lastly,  Barnaby,  the  hero  of  the 
tale  —  in  him  we  have  been  somewhat  disap- 
pointed. We  have  already  said  that  his  delight 

fin  the  atrocities  of  the  Rebellion  is  at  variance 
with  his  horror  of  blood.  OSut  this  horror  of 

*  blood  is  inconsequential;  and  of  this  we  com- 
plain. Strongly^lnsisted  upon  in  the  beginning 
of  the  narrative,  it  produces  no  adequate  result.) 

.And  here  how  fine  an  opportunity  has  MfH 
Dickens  missed!  The  conviction  of  the  assassin, 
after  the  lapse  of  twenty-two  years,  might  easily 
have  been  brought  about  through  his  son's  mys- 
terious awe  of  blood  —  an  awe  created  in  ike 
unborn  by  the  assassination  itself  —  and  this 
77 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

would  have  been  one  of  the  finest  possible  em- 
bodiments of  the  idea  which  we  are  accustomed 
to  attach  to  "  poetical  justice."  The  raven,  too, 
intensely  amusing  as  it  is,  might  have  been  made, 
more  than  we  now  see  it,  a  portion  of  the  con- 
ception of  the  fantastic  Barnaby.  Its  croakings 
might  have  been  prophetically  heard  in  the 
course  of  the\dramaj  Its  character  might  have 
performed,  in  regard  to  that  of  the  idiot,  much 
the  same  part  as  does,  in  music,  the  accompani- 
ment in  respect  to  the  air.  Each  might  have 
been  distinct.  Each  might  have  differed  re- 
markably from  the  other.  Yet  between  them 
there  might  have  been  wrought  an  analogical 
resemblance,  and  although  each  might  have  ex- 
isted apart,  they  might  have  formed  together  a 
whole  which  would  have  been  imperfect  in  the 
absence  of  either."^ 

From  what  we  Gave  here  said  —  and,  perhaps, 
said  without  due  deliberation —  (for,  alas!  the 
hurried  duties  of  the  journalist  preclude  it)  — 
there  will  not  be  wanting  those  who  will  accuse 
us  of  a  mad  design  to  detract  from  the  pure 
fame  of  the  novelist.  But  to  such  we  merely 
say  in  the  language  of  heraldry  "  ye  should  wear 
a  plain  point  sanguine  in  your  arms."  If  this 
be  understood,  well;  if  not,  well  again.  There 
lives  no  man  feeling  a  deeper  reverence  for 
genius  than  ourself.  If  we  have  not  dwelt  so 
especially  upon  the  high  merits  as  upon  the  trivial 
78 


DICKENS'S  "  BARNABY  RUDGE  " 

defects  of  "  Barnaby  Rudge  "  we  have  already 
given  our  reasons  for  the  omission,  and  these 
reasons  will  be  sufficiently  understood  by  all 
whom  we  care  to  understand  them.  The  work 
before  us  is  not,  we  think,  equal  to  the  tale  which 
immediately  preceded  it;  but  there  are  few  — 
very  few  others  to  which  we  consider  it  inferior. 
Our  chief  objection  has  not,  perhaps,  been  so  dis- 
tinctly stated  as  we  could  wish.  That  this  fiction, 
or  indeed  that  any  fiction  written  by  Mr. 
Dickens,  should  be  based  in  the  excitement^  and 
maintenance  of  curiosity,  we  look  upon  as  a  mis- 
conceptionT  on  the  part  of  the  writer,  oUus_Qwn 
veryjgreat  yet  very  peculiar  powers.  He  has 
done  this  thing  well,  to  be  sure  —  he  would  do 
anything  well  in  comparison  with  the  herd  of 
his  contemporaries;  but  he  has  not  done  it  so 
thoroughly  well  as  his  high  and  just  reputation 
would  demand.  We  think  that  the  whole  book 
has  been  an  effort  to  him,  solely  through  the 
nature  of  its  design.  He  has  been  smitten  with 
an  untimely  desire  for  a  novel  path.  The 
idiosyncrasy  of  his  intellect  would  lead  him,  nat- 
urally, into  the  most  fluent  and  simple  style  of 
narration.  In  tales  of  ordinary  sequence  he  may 
and  will  long  reign  triumphant.  He  has  a  talent 
for  all  things,  but  no  positive  genius  for  adapta- 
tion, and  still  less  for  that  metaphysical  art  in 
which  the  souls  of  all  mysteries  lie.  "Caleb 


79 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

Williams  "  is  a  far  less  noble  work  than  "  The 
Old  Curiosity  Shop ;  "  but  Mr.  Dickens  could  no 
more  have  constructed  the  one  than  Mr.  Godwin 
could  have  dreamed  of  the  other. 


80 


LEVER'S  "CHARLES  O'MALLEY" 

THE  first  point  to  be  observed  in  the  con- 
sideration of  "  Charles  O'Malley  "  is  the 
great  popularity  of  the  work.  We  believe  that 
in  this  respect  it  has  surpassed  even  the  inimitable 
compositions  of  Mr.  Dickens.  At  all  events,  it 
has  met  with  a  most  extensive  sale ;  and,  although 
the  graver  journals  have  avoided  its  discussion, 
the  ephemeral  press  has  been  nearly  if  not  quite 
unanimous  in  its  praise.  To  be  sure  the  com- 
mendation, although  unqualified,  cannot  be  said 
to  have  abounded  in  specification,  or  to  have  been, 
in  any  regard,  of  a  satisfactory  character  to  one 
seeking  precise  ideas  on  the  topic  of  the  book's 
particular  merit.  It  appears  to  us,  in  fact,  that 
the  cabalistical  words  "fun,"  "rollicking,"  and 
"  devil-may-care,"  if  indeed  words  they  be,  have 
been  made  to  stand  in  good  stead  of  all  critical 
comment  in  the  case  of  the  work  now  under  re- 
view. We  first  saw  these  dexterous  expressions 
in  a  fly-leaf  of  "  Opinions  of  the  Press  "  ap- 
pended to  the  renowned  "  Harry  Lorrequer  "  by 
his  publisher  in  Dublin.  Thence  transmitted, 
with  complacent  echo,  from  critic  to  critic, 
through  daily,  weekly,  and  monthly  journals 
without  number,  they  have  come  at  length  to 
81 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

form  a  pendant  and  a  portion  of  our  author's 
celebrity  —  have  come  to  be  regarded  as  suf- 
ficient response  to  the  few  ignoramuses,  who, 
obstinate  as  ignorant,  and  foolhardy  as  obstinate, 
venture  to  propound  a  question  or  two  about  the 
true  claims  of  "  Harry  Lorrequer  "  or  the  justice 
of  the  pretensions  of  "  Charles  O'Malley." 

We  shall  not  insult  our  readers  by  supposing 
any  one  of  them  unaware  of  the  fact  that  a  book 
may  be  even  exceedingly  popular  without  any 
legitimate  literary  merit.  This  fact  can  be 
proven  by  numerous  examples  which,  now  and 
here,  it  will  be  unnecessary  and  perhaps  inde- 
corous to  mention.  The  dogma,  then,  is  absurdly 
false,  that  the  popularity  of  a  work  is  prima  facie 
evidence  of  its  excellence  in  some  respects;  that  is 
to  say,  the  dogma  is  false  if  we  confine  the  mean- 
ing of  excellence  (as  here  of  course  it  must  be 
confined)  to  excellence  in  a  literary  sense.  The 
truth  is,  that  the  popularity  of  a  book  is  prima 
facie  evidence  of  just  the  converse  of  the  proposi- 
tion; it  is  evidence  of  the  book's  demerit,  inas- 
much as  it  shows  a  "  stooping  to  conquer,"  inas- 
much as  it  shows  that  the  author  has  dealt 
largely,  if  not  altogether,  in  matters  which  are 
susceptible  of  appreciation  by  the  mass  of  man- 
kind, by  uneducated  thought,  by  uncultivated 
taste,  by  unrefined  and  unguided  passion.  So 
long  as  the  world  retains  its  present  point  of 
civilization,  so  long  will  it  be  almost  an  axiom 
82 


LEVER'S  "CHARLES  O'MALLEY" 

that  no  extensively  popular  book,  in  the  right 
application  of  the  term,  can  be  a  work  of  high 
merit,  as  regards  those  particulars  of  the  work 
which  are  popular.  A.  book  may  be  readily  sold, 
may  be  universally  read,  for  the  sake  of  some 
half  or  two-thirds  of  its  matter,  which  half  or 
two-thirds  may  be  susceptible  of  popular  ap- 
preciation, while  the  one-half  or  one-third  re- 
maining may  be  the  delight  of  the  highest  in- 
tellect and  genius,  and  absolute  caviare  to  the 
rabble.  And  just  as 

"  Omne  tulit  punctum  qui  miscuit  utile  dulci," 

so  will  the  writer  of  fiction,  who  looks  most 
sagaciously  to  his  own  interest,  combine  all  votes 
by  intermingling  with  his  loftier  efforts  such 
amount  of  less  ethereal  matter  as  will  give  gen- 
eral currency  to  his  composition.  And  here  we 
shall  be  pardoned  for  quoting  some  observations 
of  the  English  artist,  H.  Howard.  Speaking 
of  imitation,  he  says :  — 

"  The  pleasure  that  results  from  it,  even  when  em- 
ployed upon  the  most  ordinary  materials,  will  always 
render  that  property  of  our  art  the  most  attractive 
with  the  majority,  because  it  may  be  enjoyed  with  the 
least  mental  exertion.  All  men  are  in  some  degree 
judges  of  it.  The  cobbler  in  his  own  line  may  criticise 
Apelles;  and  popular  opinions  are  never  to  be  wholly 
disregarded  concerning  that  which  is  addressed  to  the 
public  —  who,  to  a  certain  extent,  are  generally  right ; 
although  as  the  language  of  the  refined  can  never  be 
83 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

intelligible  to  the  uneducated,  so  the  higher  styles  of 
art  can  never  be  acceptable  to  the  multitude.  In  pro- 
portion as  a  work  rises  in  the  scale  of  intellect,  it  must 
necessarily  become  limited  in  the  number  of  its  admirers. 
For  this  reason  the  judicious  artist,  even  in  his  loftiest 
efforts,  will  endeavor  to  introduce  some  of  those  quali- 
ties which  are  interesting  to  all,  as  a  passport  for  those 
of  a  more  intellectual  character." 

And  these  remarks  upon  painting  —  remarks 
which  are  mere  truisms  in  themselves  —  embody 
nearly  the  whole  rationale  of  the  topic  now  under 
discussion.  It  may  he  added,  however,  that 
the  skill  with  which  the  author  addresses  the 
lower  taste  of  the  populace  is  often  a  source  of 
pleasure,  because  of  admiration,  to  a  taste 
higher  and  more  refined,  and  may  be  made  a 
point  of  comment  and  of  commendation  by  the 
critic. 

In  our  review  of  "  Barnahy  Rudge,"  we  were 
prevented  through  want  of  space  from  showing 
how  Mr.  Dickens  had  so  well  succeeded  in  uniting 
all  suffrages.  What  we  have  just  said,  however, 
will  suffice  upon  this  point.  While  he  has  ap- 
pealed in  innumerable  regards  to  the  most 
exalted  intellect,  he  has  meanwhile  invariably 
touched  a  certain  string  whose  vibrations  are 
omni-prevalent.  We  allude  to  his  powers  of 
imitation  —  that  species  of  imitation  to  which 
Mr.  Howard  has  reference — the  faithful  de- 
picting of  what  is  called  still-life,  and  particularly 
of  character  in  humble  condition.  It  is  his  close 
84 


LEVER'S  "CHARLES  O'MALLEY" 

observation  and  imitation  of  nature  here  which 
have  rendered  him  popular,  while  his  higher 
qualities,  with  the  ingenuity  evinced  in  address- 
ing the  general  taste,  have  secured  him  the  good 
word  of  the  informed  and  intellectual. 

But  this  is  an  important  point  upon  which  we 
desire  to  be  distinctly  understood.  We  wish  here 
to  record  our  positive  dissent  (be  that  dissent 
worth  what  it  may)  from  a  very  usual  opinion  — 
the  opinion  that  Mr.  Dickens  has  done  justice  to 
his  own  genius  —  that  any  man  ever  failed  to  do 
grievous  wrong  to  his  own  genius  —  in  appealing 
to  the  popular  judgment  at  all.  As  a  matter  of 
pecuniary  policy  alone,  is  any  such  appeal  de- 
fensible. But  we  speak,  of  course,  in  relation  to 
fame  —  in  regard  to  that 

"  spur  that  the  clear  spirit  doth  raise 
To  scorn  delights  and  live  laborious  days." 

That  a  perfume  should  be  found  by  any  "  clear 
spirit "  in  the  incense  of  mere  popular  applause, 
is,  to  our  own  apprehension  at  least,  a  thing  in- 
conceivable, inappreciable,  a  paradox  which  gives 
the  lie  unto  itself,  a  mystery  more  profound  than 
the  well  of  Democritus.  Mr.  Dickens  has  no 
more  business  with  the  rabble  than  a  seraph  with 
a  chapeau  de  bras.  What 's  Hecuba  to  him  or  he 
to  Hecuba?  What  is  he  to  Jacques  Bonhomme  * 
or  Jacques  Bonhomme  to  him?  The  higher  ge- 

1  Nickname  for  the  populace  in  the  middle  ages. 
85 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

nius  is  a  rare  gift  and  divine.  '£^  'noAAcjv  ou  navn 
Oadverai  .  .  .  -oc  piv  iS/],  \\i^a<^  ofrroc  —  not  to  all 
men  Apollo  shows  himself;  he  is  alone  great  who 
beholds  him.1  And  his  greatness  has  its  office 
God-assigned.  But  that  office  is  not  a  low  com- 
munion with  low,  or  even  with  ordinary  intellect. 
The  holy,  the  electric  spark  of  genius  is  the 
medium  of  intercourse  between  the  noble  and 
more  noble  mind.  For  lesser  purposes  there  are 
humbler  agents.  There  are  puppets  enough,  able 
enough,  willing  enough,  to  perform  in  literature 
the  little  things  to  which  we  have  had  reference. 
For  one  Fouque  there  are  fifty  Molieres.  For 
one  Angelo  there  are  five  hundred  Jan  Steens. 
For  one  Dickens  there  are  five  million  Smolletts, 
Fieldings,  Marry atts,  Arthurs,  Cocktons,  Bog- 
tons,  and  Frogtons. 

It  is,  in  brief,  the  duty  of  all  whom  circum- 
stances have  led  into  criticism  —  it  is,  at  least,  a 
duty  from  which  we  individually  shall  never 
shrink  —  to  uphold  the  true  dignity  of  genius,  to 
combat  its  degradation,  to  plead  for  the  exercise 
of  its  powers  in  those  bright  fields  which  are  its 
legitimate  and  peculiar  province,  and  which  for 
it  alone  lie  gloriously  outspread. 

But  to  return  to  "  Charles  O'Malley  "  and  its 

popularity.    We  have  endeavored  to  show  that 

this  latter  must  not  be  considered  in  any  degree 

as  the  measure  of  its  merit,  but  should  rather  be 

1  CALLIMACHUS  :  Hymn  to  Apollo,  9—10. 

86 


LEVER'S  "CHARLES  O'MALLEY" 

understood  as  indicating  a  deficiency  in  this  re- 
spect, when  we  bear  in  mind,  as  we  should  do,  the 
highest  aims  of  intellect  in  fiction.  A  slight  ex- 
amination of  the  work  (for  in  truth  it  is  worth 
no  more)  will  sustain  us  in  what  we  have  said. 
The  plot  is  exceedingly  meagre.  Charles  O'Mal- 
ley,  the  hero,  is  a  young  orphan  Irishman,  living 
in  Galway  County,  Ireland,  in  the  house  of 
his  uncle  Godfrey,  to  whose  sadly  encumbered 
estates  the  youth  is  heir  apparent  and  presump- 
tive. He  becomes  enamoured,  while  on  a  visit  to 
a  neighbor,  of  Miss  Lucy  Dashwood,  and  finds  a 
rival  in  a  Captain  Hammersley.  Some  words 
carelessly  spoken  by  Lucy  inspire  him  with  a  de- 
sire for  military  renown.  After  sojourning, 
therefore,  for  a  brief  period,  at  Dublin  Univer- 
sity, he  obtains  a  commission  and  proceeds  to  the 
Peninsula  with  the  British  army  under  Welling- 
ton. Here  he  distinguishes  himself ;  is  promoted ; 
and  meets  frequently  with  Miss  Dashwood,  whom 
obstinately,  and  in  spite  of  the  lady's  own  ac- 
knowledgment of  love  for  himself,  he  supposes 
in  love  with  Hammersley.  Upon  the  storming 
of  Ciudad  Rodrigo  he  returns  home;  finds  his 
uncle,  of  course,  just  dead ;  and  sells  his  commis- 
sion to  disencumber  the  estate.  Presently  Napo- 
leon escapes  from  Elba,  and  our  hero,  obtaining 
a  staff  appointment  under  Picton,  returns  to  the 
Peninsula,  is  present  at  Waterloo  (where  Ham- 
mersley is  killed) ,  saves  the  life  of  Lucy's  father 
87 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

for  the  second  time,  as  he  has  already  twice  saved 
that  of  Lucy  herself ;  is  rewarded  by  the  hand  of 
the  latter;  and,  making  his  way  back  to  O'Malley 
Castle,  "  lives  happily  all  the  rest  of  his  days." 

In  and  about  this  plot  (if  such  it  may  be 
called)  there  are  more  absurdities  than  we  have 
patience  to  enumerate.  The  author,  or  narrator, 
for  example,  is  supposed  to  be  Harry  Lorrequer 
as  far  as  the  end  of  the  preface,  which,  by  the 
way,  is  one  of  the  best  portions  of  the  book. 
O'Malley  then  tells  his  own  story.  But  the 
publishing  office  of  the  "Dublin  University 
Magazine"  (in  which  the  narrative  originally 
appeared)  having  been  burned  down,  there  en- 
sues a  sad  confusion  of  identity  between  O'Mal- 
ley and  Lorrequer,  so  that  it  is  difficult,  for 
the  nonce,  to  say  which  is  which.  In  the  want 
of  copy  consequent  upon  the  disaster,  James,  the 
novelist,  comes  in  to  the  relief  of  Lorrequer,  or 
perhaps  of  O'Malley,  with  one  of  the  flattest 
and  most  irrelevant  of  love-tales.  Meantime,  in 
the  story  proper  are  repetitions  without  end. 
We  have  already  said  that  the  hero  saves  the  life 
of  his  mistress  twice,  and  of  her  father  twice. 
But  not  content  with  this,  he  has  two  mistresses, 
and  saves  the  life  of  both,  at  different  periods, 
in  precisely  the  same  manner  —  that  is  to  say, 
by  causing  his  horse  in  each  instance  to  perform 
a  Munchausen  side-leap  at  the  moment  when  a 
spring  forward  would  have  impelled  him  upon 
88 


LEVER'S  "CHARLES  O'MALLEY  " 

his  beloved.  And  then  we  have  one  unending, 
undeviating  succession  of  junketings,  in  which 
"  devilled  kidneys  "  are  never  by  any  accident 
found  wanting.  The  unction  and  pertinacity 
with  which  the  author  discusses  what  he  chooses 
to  denominate  "  devilled  kidneys "  are  indeed 
edifying,  to  say  no  more.  The  truth  is,  that 
drinking,  telling  anecdotes,  and  devouring  "  dev- 
illed kidneys "  may  be  considered  as  the  sum 
total,  as  the  thesis  of  the  book.  Never,  in  the 
whole  course  of  his  eventful  life,  does  Mr. 
O'Malley  get  "two  or  three  assembled  to- 
gether "  without  seducing  them  forthwith  to  a 
table,  and  placing  before  them  a  dozen  of  wine 
and  a  dish  of  "  devilled  kidneys."  This  accom- 
plished, the  parties  begin  what  seems  to  be  the 
business  of  the  author's  existence  —  the  narra- 
tion of  unusually  broad  tales  —  like  those  of  the 
Southdown  mutton.  And  here,  in  fact,  we  have 
the  plan  of  that  whole  work  of  which  the  "  United 
Service  Gazette "  has  been  pleased  to  vow  it 
"would  rather  be  the  author  than  of  all  the 
'  Pickwicks  '  and  *  Nicklebys '  in  the  world  "  — 
a  sentiment  which  we  really  blush  to  say  has  been 
echoed  by  many  respectable  members  of  our  own 
press.  The  general  plot  or  narrative  is  a  mere 
thread  upon  which  after-dinner  anecdotes,  some 
good,  some  bad,  some  utterly  worthless,  and  not 
one  truly  original,  are  strung  with  about  as  much 
method,  and  about  half  as  much  dexterity,  as 
89 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

we  see  ragged  urchins  employ  in  stringing  the 
kernels  of  nuts. 

It  would,  indeed,  be  difficult  to  convey  to  one 
who  has  not  examined  this  production  for  him- 
self, any  idea  of  the  exceedingly  rough,  clumsy, 
and  inartistical  manner  in  which  even  this 
bald  conception  is  carried  out.  The  stories  are 
absolutely  dragged  in  by  the  ears.  So  far  from 
finding  them  result  naturally  or  plausibly  from 
the  conversation  of  the  interlocutors,  even  the 
blindest  reader  may  perceive  the  author's  strug- 
gling and  blundering  effort  to  introduce  them.  It 
is  rendered  quite  evident  that  they  were  origi- 
nally "  on  hand,"  and  that  "  O'Malley  "  has  been 
concocted  for  their  introduction.  Among  other 
niaiseries  we  observe  the  silly  trick  of  whetting 
appetite  by  delay.  The  conversation  over  the 
"kidneys"  is  brought,  for  example,  to  such  a 
pass  that  one  of  the  speakers  is  called  upon  for 
a  story,  which  he  forthwith  declines  for  any  rea- 
son, or  for  none.  At  a  subsequent  "  broil,"  he 
is  again  pressed  and  again  refuses ;  and  it  is  not 
until  the  reader's  patience  is  fairly  exhausted 
and  he  has  consigned  both  the  story  and  its 
author  to  Hades,  that  the  gentleman  in  question 
is  prevailed  upon  to  discourse.  The  only  con- 
ceivable result  of  this  fanfaronnade  is  the  ruin 
of  the  tale  when  told,  through  exaggerating 
anticipation  respecting  it. 

The  anecdotes  thus  narrated  being  the  staple 
90 


LEVER'S  "CHARLES  O'MALLEY  " 

of  the  book,  and  the  awkward  manner  of  their 
interlocution  having  been  pointed  out,  it  but  re- 
mains to  be  seen  what  the  anecdotes  are,  in  them- 
selves, and  what  is  the  merit  of  their  narration. 
And  here,  let  it  not  be  supposed  that  we  have  any 
design  to  deprive  the  devil  of  his  due.  There 
are  several  very  excellent  anecdotes  in  "  Charles 
O'Malley"  very  cleverly  and  pungently  told. 
Many  of  the  scenes  in  which  Monsoon  figures 
are  rich  —  less,  however,  from  the  scenes  them- 
selves than  from  the  piquant,  but  by  no  means 
original  character  of  Monsoon,  a  drunken,  maud- 
lin, dishonest  old  Major,  given  to  communica- 
tiveness and  mock  morality  over  his  cups  and  not 
over  careful  in  detailing  adventures  which  tell 
against  himself.  One  or  two  of  the  college  pic- 
tures are  unquestionably  good,  but  might  have 
been  better.  In  general,  the  reader  is  made  to 
feel  that  fine  subjects  have  fallen  into  unskilful 
hands.  By  way  of  instancing  this  assertion,  and 
at  the  same  time  of  conveying  an  idea  of  the  tone 
and  character  of  the  stories,  we  will  quote  one 
of  the  shortest,  and  assuredly  one  of  the  best:  — 

"  <  Ah,  by-the-by,  how's  the  Major?  ' 

"  *  Charmingly :  only  a  little  bit  in  a  scrape  just  now. 
Sir  Arthur  —  Lord  Wellington,  I  mean  —  had  him  up 
for  his  fellows  being  caught  pillaging,  and  gave  him  a 
devil  of  a  rowing  a  few  days  ago.' 

"  *  Very  disorderly  corps  yours,  Major  O'Shaugh- 
nessy,'  said  the  general ;  '  more  men  up  for  punishment 
than  any  regiment  in  the  service.' 
91 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

"  Shaugh  muttered  something,  but  his  voice  was  lost 
in  a  loud  cock-a-doo-doo-doo,  that  some  bold  chanti- 
cleer set  up  at  the  moment. 

" '  If  the  officers  do  their  duty,  Major  O'Shaugh- 
nessy,  these  acts  of  insubordination  do  not  occur.' 

"  *  Cock-a-doo-doo-doo,'  was  the  reply.  Some  of  the 
staff  found  it  hard  not  to  laugh;  but  the  general  went 
on  — 

"  *  If,  therefore,  the  practice  does  not  cease,  I  '11 
draft  the  men  into  West  India  regiments.' 

"  '  Cock-a-doo-doo-doo ! ' 

"  *  And  if  any  articles  pillaged  from  the  inhabitants 
are  detected  in  the  quarters,  or  about  the  persons  of 
the  troops  — ' 

"  '  Cock-a-doo-doo-doo/  '  screamed  louder  here  than 
ever. 

"  *  Damn  that  cock  —  where  is  it  ?  ' 

"  There  was  a  general  look  around  on  all  sides,  which 
seemed  in  vain;  when  a  tremendous  repetition  of  the 
cry  resounded  from  O'Shaughnessy's  coat-pocket:  thus 
detecting  the  valiant  Major  himself  in  the  very  prac- 
tice of  his  corps.  There  was  no  standing  this:  every 
one  burst  out  into  a  peal  of  laughter;  and  Lord  Wel- 
lington himself  could  not  resist,  but  turned  away  mut- 
tering to  himself  as  he  went  —  *  Damned  robbers  every 
man  of  them,'  while  a  final  war-note  from  the  Major's 
pocket  closed  the  interview." 

Now  this  is  an  anecdote  at  which  every  one 
will  laugh;  but  its  effect  might  have  been  vastly 
heightened  by  putting  a  few  words  of  grave 
morality  and  reprobation  of  the  conduct  of  his 
troops,  into  the  mouth  of  O'Shaughnessy,  upon 
whose  character  they  would  have  told  well.  The 


LEVER'S  "CHARLES  O'MALLEY" 

cock,  in  interrupting  the  thread  of  his  discourse, 
would  thus  have  afforded  an  excellent  context. 
We  have  scarcely  a  reader,  moreover,  who  will 
fail  to  perceive  the  want  of  tact  shown  in  dwell- 
ing upon  the  mirth  which  the  anecdote  occa- 
sioned. The  error  here  is  precisely  like  that  of 
a  man's  laughing  at  his  own  spoken  jokes.  Our 
author  is  uniformly  guilty  of  this  mistake.  He 
has  an  absurd  fashion,  also,  of  informing  the 
reader,  at  the  conclusion  of  each  of  his  anecdotes, 
that,  however  good  the  anecdote  might  be,  he 
(the  reader)  cannot  enjoy  it  to  the  full  extent 
in  default  of  the  manner  in  which  it  was  orally 
narrated.  He  has  no  business  to  say  anything 
of  the  kind.  It  is  his  duty  to  convey  the  man- 
ner not  less  than  the  matter  of  his  narratives. 

But  we  may  say  of  these  latter  that,  in  general, 
they  have  the  air  of  being  remembered  rather 
than  invented.  No  man  who  has  seen  much  of 
the  rough  life  of  the  camp  will  fail  to  recognize 
among  them  many  very  old  acquaintances. 
Some  of  them  are  as  ancient  as  the  hills,  and  have 
been,  time  out  of  mind,  the  common  property  of 
the  bivouac.  They  have  been  narrated  orally 
all  the  world  over.  The  chief  merit  of  the  writer 
is  that  he  has  been  the  first  to  collect  and  to  print 
them.  It  is  observable,  in  fact,  that  the  second 
volume  of  the  work  is  very  far  inferior  to  the 
first.  The  author  seems'  to  have  exhausted  his 
whole  hoarded  store  in  the  beginning.  His  con- 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

elusion  is  barren  indeed,  and  but  for  the  histori- 
cal details  (for  which  he  has  no  claim  to  merit) 
would  be  especially  prosy  and  dull.  Now  the 
true  invention  never  exhausts  itself.  It  is  mere 
cant  and  ignorance  to  talk  of  the  possibility  of 
the  really  imaginative  man's  "  writing  himself 
out."  His  soul  but  derives  nourishment  from 
the  streams  that  flow  therefrom.  As  well  prate 
about  the  aridity  of  the  eternal  ocean  e£  ounep 
navrec  TTOTapoi.  So  long  as  the  universe  of  thought 
shall  furnish  matter  for  novel  combination,  so 
long  will  the  spirit  of  true  genius  be  original,  be 
exhaustless  —  be  itself. 

A  few  cursory  observations.  The  book  is  filled 
to  overflowing  with  songs  of  very  doubtful  ex- 
cellence, the  most  of  which  are  put  into  the 
mouth  of  Micky  Free,  an  amusing  Irish  servant 
of  O'Malley's  and  are  given  as  his  impromptu 
effusions.  The  subject  of  the  improvisos  is  al- 
ways the  matter  in  hand  at  the  moment  of  com- 
position. The  author  evidently  prides  himself 
upon  his  poetical  powers,  about  which  the  less 
we  say  the  better;  but  if  anything  were  wanting 
to  assure  us  of  his  absurd  ignorance  and  inap- 
preciation  of  Art,  we  should  find  the  fullest  as- 
surance in  the  mode  in  which  these  doggerel 
verses  are  introduced. 

The  occasional  sentiment  with  *which  the 
volumes  are  interspersed  there  is  an  absolute 
necessity  for  skipping. 

94 


LEVER'S  "CHARLES  O'MALLEY  » 

Can  anybody  tell  us  what  is  meant  by  the  af- 
fectation of  the  word  "LSEnvoy  "  which  is  made 
the  heading  of  two  prefaces? 

That  portion  of  the  account  of  the  battle 
of  Waterloo  which  gives  O'Malley's  experiences 
while  a  prisoner  and  in  close  juxtaposition  to 
Napoleon,  bears  evident  traces  of  having  been 
translated,  and  very  literally  too,  from  a  French 
manuscript. 

The  English  of  the  work  is  sometimes  even 
amusing.  We  have  continually,  for  example, 
eat,  the  present,  for  ate,  the  perfect  —  page  17. 
At  page  16  we  have  this  delightful  sentence: 
"Captain  Hammersley,  however,  never  took 
further  notice  of  me,  but  continued  to  recount, 
for  the  amusement  of  those  about,  several  ex- 
cellent stories  of  his  military  career,  which  I  con- 
fess were  heard  with  every  test  of  delight  by  all 
save  me."  At  page  357  we  have  some  sage  talk 
about  "the  entire  of  the  army;"  and  at  page 
368  the  accomplished  O'Malley  speaks  of  "  draw- 
ing a  last  look  upon  his  sweetheart."  These 
things  arrest  our  attention  as  we  open  the  book 
at  random.  It  abounds  in  them,  and  in  vulgar- 
isms even  much  worse  than  they. 

But  why  speak  of  vulgarisms  of  language? 
There  is  a  disgusting  vulgarism  of  thought  which 
pervades  and  contaminates  this  whole  produc- 
tion, and  from  which  a  delicate  or  lofty  mind  will 
shrink  as  from  a  pestilence.  Not  the  least  re- 
95 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

pulsive  manifestation  of  this  leprosy  is  to  be 
found  in  the  author's  blind  and  grovelling  wor- 
ship of  mere  rank.  Of  the  Prince  Regent,  that 
filthy  compound  of  all  that  is  bestial,  that  lazar- 
house  of  all  moral  corruption,  he  scruples  not 
to  speak  in  terms  of  the  grossest  adulation, 
sneering  at  Edmund  Burke  in  the  same  villanous 
breath  in  which  he  extols  the  talents,  the  graces, 
and  the  virtues  of  George  the  Fourth !  That  any 
man,  to-day,  can  be  found  so  degraded  in  heart 
as  to  style  this  reprobate  "one  who,  in  every 
feeling  of  his  nature,  and  in  every  feature  of  his 
deportment,  was  every  inch  a  prince  "  —  is  mat- 
ter for  grave  reflection  and  sorrowful  debate. 
The  American,  at  least,  who  shall  peruse  the  con- 
cluding pages  of  the  book  now  under  review, 
and  not  turn  in  disgust  from  the  base  syco- 
phancy which  infects  them,  is  unworthy  of  his 
country  and  his  name.  But  the  truth  is  that 
a  gross  and  contracted  soul  renders  itself  un- 
questionably manifest  in  almost  every  line  of  the 
composition. 

And  this  —  this  is  the  work,  in  respect  to  which 
its  author,  aping  the  airs  of  intellect,  prates  about 
his  "  haggard  cheek,"  his  "  sunken  eye,"  his 
"aching  and  tired  head,"  his  "nights  of  toil," 
and  (good  heavens)  his  "days  of  thought!" 
That  the  thing  is  popular  we  grant  —  while  that 
we  cannot  deny  the  fact,  we  grieve.  But  the 
career  of  true  taste  is  onward  —  and  now  moves 
96 


LEVER'S  "CHARLES  O'MALLEY " 

more  vigorously  onward  than  ever  —  and  the 
period,  perhaps,  is  not  hopelessly  distant,  when 
in  decrying  the  mere  balderdash  of  such  matters 
as  "  Charles  O'Malley  "  we  shall  do  less  violence 
to  the  feelings  and  judgment  even  of  the  popu- 
lace than,  we  much  fear,  has  been  done  in  this 
article. 


97 


MARRYATT'S  "JOSEPH  RUSH- 
BROOK" 

IT  has  been  well  said  that  "  the  success  of  cer- 
tain works  may  be  traced  to  sympathy  be- 
tween the  author's  mediocrity  of  ideas  and  medi- 
ocrity of  ideas  on  the  part  of  the  public."  In 
commenting  on  this  passage,  Mrs.  Gore,  herself 
a  shrewd  philosopher,  observes  that,  whether  as 
regards  men  or  books,  there  exists  an  excellence 
too  excellent  for  general  favor.  To  "make  a 
hit,"  to  captivate  the  public  eye,  ear,  or  under- 
standing without  a  certain  degree  of  merit,  is 
impossible ;  but  the  "  hardest  hit  "  is  seldom  made, 
indeed  we  may  say  never  made,  by  the  highest 
merit.  When  we  wrote  the  word  "  seldom  "  we 
were  thinking  of  Dickens  and  "  The  Old  Curi- 
osity Shop,"  a  work  unquestionably  of  "  the  high- 
est merit,"  and  which  at  a  first  glance  appears  to 
have  made  the  most  unequivocal  of  "  hits; "  but 
we  suddenly  remembered  that  the  compositions 
called  "Harry  Lorrequer "  and  "Charles 
O'Malley  "  had  borne  the  palm  from  "  The  Old 
Curiosity  Shop"  in  point  of  what  is  properly 
termed  popularity. 

There  can  be  no  question,  we  think,  that  the 
philosophy  of   all  this   is  to  be  found  in  the 
98 


MARRYATT'S  "  JOSEPH  RUSHBROOK  » 

apothegm  with  which  we  began.  Marryatt  is  a 
singular  instance  of  its  truth.  He  has  always 
been  a  very  popular  writer  in  the  most  rigorous 
sense  of  the  word.  His  books  are  essentially 
"  mediocre."  His  ideas  are  the  common  prop- 
erty of  the  mob,  and  have  been  their  common 
property  time  out  of  mind.  We  look  through- 
out his  writings  in  vain  for  the  slightest  indica- 
tion of  originality,  for  the  faintest  incentive  to 
thought.  His  plots,  his  language,  his  opinions, 
are  neither  adapted  nor  intended  for  scrutiny. 
We  must  be  contented  with  them  as  sentiments 
rather  than  as  ideas;  and  properly  to  estimate 
them,  even  in  this  view,  we  must  bring  ourselves 
into  a  sort  of  identification  with  the  sentiment 
of  the  mass.  Works  composed  in  this  spirit  are 
sometimes  purposely  so  composed  by  men  of 
superior  intelligence,  and  here  we  call  to  mind 
the  Chansons  of  Beranger.  But  usually  they  are 
the  natural  exponent  of  the  vulgar  thought  in 
the  person  of  a  vulgar  thinker.  In  either  case 
they  claim  for  themselves  that  which,  for  want 
of  a  more  definite  expression,  has  been  called  by 
critics  nationality.  Whether  this  nationality  in 
letters  is  a  fit  object  for  high-minded  ambition, 
we  cannot  here  pause  to  inquire.  If  it  is,  then 
Captain  Marrayatt  occupies  a  more  desirable 
position  than,  in  our  heart,  we  are  willing  to 
award  him. 

"  Joseph  Rushbrook  "  is  not  a  book  with  which 
99 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

the  critic  should  occupy  many  paragraphs.  It 
is  not  very  dissimilar  to  "  Poor  Jack,"  which 
latter  is,  perhaps,  the  best  specimen  of  its  au- 
thor's cast  of  thought,  and  national  manner,  al- 
though inferior  in  interest  to  "  Peter  Sim- 
pie." 

The  plot  can  only  please  those  who  swallow 
the  probabilities  of  "  Sinbad  the  Sailor,"  or 
"Jack  and  the  Bean-Stalk"  —  or  we  should 
have  said,  more  strictly,  the  incidents;  for  of 
plot,  properly  speaking,  there  is  none  at  all. 

Joseph  Rushbrook  is  an  English  soldier  who, 
having  long  served  his  country  and  received  a 
wound  in  the  head,  is  pensioned  and  discharged. 
He  becomes  a  poacher,  and  educates  his  son 
(the  hero  of  the  tale,  and  also  named  Joseph)  to 
the  same  profession.  A  pedler,  called  Byres,  is 
about  to  betray  the  father,  who  avenges  himself 
by  shooting  him.  The  son  takes  the  burden  of 
the  crime  upon  himself,  and  flees  the  country. 
A  reward  is  offered  for  his  apprehension  —  a 
reward  which  one  Furness,  a  schoolmaster,  is 
very  anxious  to  obtain.  This  Furness  dogs  the 
footsteps  of  our  hero,  much  as  Fagin,  the  Jew, 
dogs  those  of  Oliver  Twist,  forcing  him  to  quit 
place  after  place,  just  as  he  begins  to  get  com- 
fortably settled.  In  thus  roaming  about,  little 
Joseph  meets  with  all  kinds  of  outrageously  im- 
probable adventures;  and  not  only  this,  but  the 
reader  is  bored  to  death  with  the  outrageously 
100 


MARRYATT'S  «  JOSEPH  RUSHBROOK  " 

improbable  adventures  of  every  one  with  whom 
little  Joseph  comes  in  contact.  Good  fortune 
absolutely  besets  him.  Money  falls  at  his  feet 
wherever  he  goes,  and  he  has  only  to  stoop  and 
pick  it  up.  At  length  he  arrives  at  the  height 
of  prosperity,  and  thinks  he  is  entirely  rid  of 
Furness,  when  Furness  reappears.  That  Joseph 
should,  in  the  end,  be  brought  to  trial  for  the 
pedler's  murder  is  so  clearly  the  author's  de- 
sign that  he  who  runs  may  read  it,  and  we  nat- 
urally suppose  that  his  persecutor,  Furness,  is 
to  be  the  instrument  of  this  evil.  We  suppose 
also,  of  course,  that  in  bringing  this  misfortune 
upon  our  hero,  the  schoolmaster  will  involve  him- 
self in  ruin,  in  accordance  with  the  common  ideas 
of  poetical  justice.  But  no;  —  Furness,  being 
found  in  the  way,  is  killed  off  accidentally,  hav- 
ing lived  and  plotted  to  no  ostensible  purpose 
through  the  better  half  of  the  book.  Circum- 
stances that  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  story 
involve  Joseph  in  his  trial.  He  refuses  to  di- 
vulge the  real  secret  of  the  murder,  and  is  sen- 
tenced to  transportation.  The  elder  Rushbrook, 
in  the  mean  time,  has  avoided  suspicion  and 
fallen  heir  to  a  great  property.  Just  as  his  son 
is  about  to  be  sent  across  the  water,  some  of  Joe's 
friends  discover  the  true  state  of  affairs,  and  ob- 
tain from  the  father,  who  is  now  conveniently 
upon  his  death-bed,  a  confession  of  his  guilt. 
Thus  all  ends  well  —  if  the  word  "  well "  can  be 
101 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

applied  in  any  sense  to  trash  so  ineffable;  the 
father  dies,  the  son  is  released,  inherits  the  estate, 
marries  his  lady-love,  and  prospers  in  every  pos- 
sible and  impossible  way. 

We  have  mentioned  the  imitation  of  Fagin. 
A  second  plagiarism  is  feebly  attempted  in  the 
character  of  one  Nancy,  a  trull,  who  is  based 
upon  the  Nancy  of  "Oliver  Twist"  —  for 
Marryatt  is  not  often  at  the  trouble  of  diversify- 
ing his  thefts.  This  Nancy  changes  her  name 
three  or  four  times,  and  so  in  fact  do  each  and  all 
of  the  dramatis  personce.  This  changing  of  name 
is  one  of  the  bright  ideas  with  which  the  author 
of  "  Peter  Simple "  is  most  pertinaciously  af- 
flicted. We  would  not  be  bound  to  say  how  many 
aliases  are  borne  by  the  hero  in  this  instance  — 
some  dozen  perhaps. 

The  novels  of  Marryatt  —  his  later  ones  at 
least  —  are  evidently  written  to  order,  for  cer- 
tain considerations,  and  have  to  be  delivered 
within  certain  periods.  He  thus  finds  it  his  in- 
terest to  push  on.  Now,  for  this  mode  of  prog- 
ress, incident  is  the  sole  thing  which  answers. 
One  incident  begets  another,  and  so  on  ad  infin- 
itum.  There  is  never  the  slightest  necessity  for 
pausing;  especially  where  no  plot  is  to  be  cared 
for.  Comment,  in  the  author's  own  person,  upon 
what  is  transacting,  is  left  entirely  out  of  ques- 
tion. There  is  thus  none  of  that  binding  power 
perceptible,  which  often  gives  a  species  of  unity 
102 


MARRYATT'S  "JOSEPH  RUSHBROOK" 

(the  unity  of  the  writer's  individual  thought)  to 
the  most  random  narrations.  All  works  com- 
posed as  we  have  stated  Marryatt's  to  be  com- 
posed, will  be  run  on,  incidentally,  in  the  manner 
described;  and,  notwithstanding  that  it  would 
seem  at  first  sight  to  be  otherwise,  yet  it  is 
true  that  no  works  are  so  insufferably  tedious. 
These  are  the  novels  which  we  read  with  a  hurry 
exactly  consonant  and  proportionate  with  that  in 
which  they  were  indited.  We  seldom  leave  them 
unfinished,  yet  we  labor  through  to  the  end,  and 
reach  it  with  unalloyed  pleasure. 

The  commenting  force  can  never  be  safely 
disregarded.  It  is  far  better  to  have  a  dearth 
of  incident,  with  skilful  observations  upon  it, 
than  the  utmost  variety  of  event,  without.  In 
some  previous  review  we  have  observed  (and  our 
observation  is  borne  out  by  analysis)  that  it  was 
the  deep  sense  of  the  want  of  this  binding  and 
commenting  power  in  the  old  Greek  drama, 
which  gave  rise  to  the  chorus.  The  chorus  came 
at  length  to  supply,  in  some  measure,  a  defi- 
ciency which  is  inseparable  from  dramatic  ac- 
tion, and  represented  the  expression  of  the  pub- 
lic interest  or  sympathy  in  the  matters  trans- 
acted. The  successful  novelist  must,  in  the  same 
manner,  be  careful  to  bring  into  view  his  pri- 
vate interest,  sympathy,  and  opinion,  in  regard 
to  his  own  creations. 

We  have  spoken  of  "  The  Poacher  "  at  greater 
103 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

length  than  we  intended;  for  it  deserves  little 
more  than  an  announcement.  It  has  the  merit 
of  a  homely  and  not  unnatural  simplicity  of 
style,  and  is  not  destitute  of  pathos:  but  this  is 
all.  Its  English  is  excessively  slovenly.  Its 
events  are  monstrously  improbable.  There  is 
no  adaptation  of  parts  about  it.  The  truth  is,  it 
is  a  pitiable  production.  There  are  twenty  young 
men  of  our  acquaintance  who  make  no  preten- 
sion to  literary  ability,  yet  who  could  produce  a 
better  book  in  a  week. 


104 


BIRD'S    "THE    HAWKS    OF    HAWK- 
HOLLOW  "  AND  "  SHEPPARD  LEE  " 


BY  "  The  Gladiator,"  by  "  Calavar,"  and  by 
"  The  Infidel,"  Dr.  Bird  has  risen,  in  a 
comparatively  short  space  of  time,  to  a  very  en- 
viable reputation;  and  we  have  heard  it  asserted 
that  his  novel,  "  The  Hawks  of  Hawk-Hollow," 
will  not  fail  to  place  his  name  in  the  very  first 
rank  of  American  writers  of  fiction.  Without 
venturing  to  subscribe  implicitly  to  this  latter 
supposition,  we  still  think  very  highly  of  him 
who  has  written  "  Calavar." 

Had  this  novel  reached  us  some  years  ago, 
with  the  title  of  "  The  Hawks  of  Hawk-Hollow: 
A  Romance  by  the  author  of  Waverley,"  we 
should  not  perhaps  have  engaged  in  its  perusal 
with  as  much  genuine  eagerness,  or  with  so 
dogged  a  determination  to  be  pleased  with  it  at 
all  events,  as  we  have  actually  done  upon  receiv- 
ing it  with  its  proper  title,  and  under  really  exist- 
ing circumstances.  But  having  read  the  book 
through,  as  undoubtedly  we  should  have  done, 
if  only  for  the  sake  of  Auld  Lang  Syne,  and 
105 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

for  the  sake  of  certain  pleasantly  mirthful,  or 
pleasantly  mournful  recollections  connected  with 
"  Ivanhoe,"  with  the  Antiquary,"  with  "  Kenil- 
worth,"  and  above  all,  with  that  most  pure,  per- 
fect, and  radiant  gem  of  fictitious  literature,  the 
"  Bride  of  Lammermoor  "  —  having,  we  say,  on 
this  account,  and  for  the  sake  of  these  recollec- 
tions, read  the  novel  from  beginning  to  end,  from 
Aleph  to  Tau,  we  should  have  pronounced  our 
opinion  of  its  merits  somewhat  in  the  following 
manner. 

"  It  is  unnecessary  to  tell  us  that  this  novel  is 
written  by  Sir  Walter  Scott;  and  we  are  really 
glad  to  find  that  he  has  at  length  ventured  to 
turn  his  attention  to  American  incidents,  scenery, 
and  manners.  We  repeat  that  it  was  a  mere  act 
of  supererogation  to  place  the  words  'By  the 
author  of  "  Waverley  " '  in  the  titlepage.  The 
book  speaks  for  itself.  The  style  vulgarly  so 
called  —  the  manner  properly  so  called  —  the 
handling  of  the  subject,  to  speak  pictorially,  or 
graphically,  or  as  a  German  would  say,  plasti- 
cally —  in  a  word,  the  general  air,  the  tout  en- 
semble, the  prevailing  character  of  the  story,  all 
proclaim,  in  words  which  one  who  runs  may  read, 
that  these  volumes  were  indited  '  By  the  author 
of  "  Waverley." 3  Having  said  thus  much,  we 
should  resume  our  critique  as  follows :  " '  The 
Hawks  of  Hawk-Hollow'  is,  however,  by  no 
means  in  the  best  manner  of  its  illustrious  au- 
106 


BIRD'S    "  THE  HAWKS  OF    HAWK-HOLLOW  " 

thor.  To  speak  plainly,  it  is  a  positive  failure, 
and  must  take  its  place  by  the  side  of  the  '  Red- 
gauntlets,'  the  '  Monasteries,'  the  '  Pirates,' 
and  the  '  Saint  Ronan's  Wells.' " 

All  this  we  should  perhaps  have  been  induced 
to  say  had  the  book  been  offered  to  us  for  peru- 
sal some  few  years  ago,  with  the  supposititious 
title,  and  under  the  supposititious  circumstances 
aforesaid.  But  alas!  for  our  critical  indepen- 
dency, the  case  is  very  different  indeed.  There 
can  be  no  mistake  or  misconception  in  the  pres- 
ent instance,  such  as  we  have  so  fancifully  im- 
agined. The  titlepage  (here  we  have  it)  is  clear, 
explanatory,  and  not  to  be  misunderstood. 
"The  Hawks  of  Hawk-Hollow,  A  Tradition 
of  Pennsylvania  "  —  that  is  to  say,  a  novel  —  is 
written,  so  we  are  assured,  not  by  the  author  of 
"  Waverley,"  but  by  the  author  of  that  very  fine 
romance  "  Calavar  "  —  not  by  Sir  Walter  Scott, 
Baronet,  but  by  Robert  M.  Bird,  M.  D.  Now 
Robert  M.  Bird  is  an  American. 

In  regard  to  that  purely  mechanical  portion  of 
this  novel,  which  it  would  now  be  fashionable  to 
denominate  its  style,  we  have  very  few  observa- 
tions to  make.  In  general  it  is  faultless.  Oc- 
casionally we  meet  with  a  sentence  ill-con- 
structed, an  inartificial  adaptation  of  the  end  to 
the  beginning  of  a  paragraph,  a  circumlocutory 
mode  of  saying  what  might  have  been  better  said, 
if  said  with  brevity;  now  and  then  with  a  pleo- 
107 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

nasm,  as,  for  example  —  "  And  if  he  wore  a  mask 
in  his  commerce  with  men,  it  was  like  that  iron 
one  of  the  Bastile,  which  when  put  on,  was  put 
on  for  life,  and  was  at  the  same  time  of  iron;  " 
not  unf requently  with  a  bull  proper,  videlicet  — 
"  As  he  spoke  there  came  into  the  den,  eight  men 
attired  like  the  two  first  who  were  included  in 
the  number."  But  we  repeat  that  upon  the 
whole  the  style  of  the  novel  —  if  that  may  be 
called  its  style,  which  style  is  not  —  is  at  least 
equal  to  that  of  any  American  writer  whatso- 
ever. In  the  style  properly  so  called — that  is  to 
say,  in  the  prevailing  tone  and  manner  which 
give  character  and  individuality  to  the  book,  we 
cannot  bring  ourselves  to  think  that  Dr.  Bird 
has  been  equally  fortunate.  His  subject  ap- 
pears always  ready  to  fly  away  with  him.  He 
dallies  with  it  continually  —  hovers  incessantly 
round  it,  and  about  it  —  and  not  until  driven  to 
exertion  by  the  necessity  of  bringing  his  volumes 
to  a  close,  does  he  finally  grasp  it  with  any  ap- 
pearance of  energy  or  good-will.  "  The  Hawks 
of  Hawk-Hollow"  is  composed  with  great  in- 
equality of  manner  —  at  times  forcible  and 
manly  —  at  times  sinking  into  the  merest  child- 
ishness and  imbecility.  Some  portions  of  the 
book,  we  surmise,  were  either  not  written  by 
Dr.  Bird,  or  were  written  by  him  in  moments  of 
the  most  utter  mental  exhaustion.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  reader  will  not  be  disappointed,  if  he 
108 


BIRD'S    "  THE  HAWKS  OF    HAWK-HOLLOW  " 

looks  to  find  in  the  novel  many  —  very  many 
well-sustained  passages  of  great  eloquence  and 
beauty. 

"  The  Hawks  of  Hawk-Hollow,"  if  it  add  a 
single  bay  to  the  already  green  wreath  of  Dr. 
Bird's  popular  reputation,  will  not,  at  all  events, 
among  men  whose  decisions  are  entitled  to  con- 
sideration, advance  the  high  opinion  previously 
entertained  of  his  abilities.  It  has  no  preten- 
sions to  originality  of  manner,  or  of  style  —  for 
we  insist  upon  the  distinction  —  and  very  few  to 
originality  of  matter.  It  is,  in  many  respects,  a 
bad  imitation  of  Sir  Walter  Scott.  Some  of 
its  characters,  and  one  or  two  of  its  incidents, 
have  seldom  been  surpassed,  for  force,  fidelity 
to  nature,  and  power  of  exciting  interest  in  the 
reader.  It  is  altogether  more  worthy  of  its  au- 
thor in  its  scenes  of  hurry,  of  tumult,  and  con- 
fusion, than  in  those  of  a  more  quiet  and  phil- 
osophical nature.  Like  "  Calavar  "  and  "  The 
Infidel,"  it  excels  in  the  drama  of  action  and 
passion,  and  fails  in  the  drama  of  colloquy.  It 
is  inferior,  as  a  whole,  to  "  The  Infidel,"  and 
vastly  inferior  to  "  Calavar." 


II 


We  must  regard  "  Sheppard  Lee,"  upon  the 
whole,  as  a  very  clever,  and  not  altogether  un- 
original, jeu  ff  esprit.    Its  incidents  are  well  con- 
109 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

ceived,  and  related  with  force,  brevity,  and  a 
species  of  directness  which  is  invaluable  in  cer- 
tain cases  of  narration  —  while  in  others  it  should 
be  avoided.  The  language  is  exceedingly  unaf- 
fected and  (what  we  regard  as  high  praise)  ex- 
ceedingly well  adapted  to  the  varying  subjects. 
Some  fault  may  be  found  with  the  conception 
of  the  metempsychosis  which  is  the  basis  of  the 
narrative.  There  are  two  general  methods  of 
telling  stories  such  as  this.  One  of  these  methods 
is  that  adopted  by  the  author  of  "  Sheppard 
Lee."  He  conceives  his  hero  endowed  with  some 
idiosyncrasy  beyond  the  common  lot  of  human 
nature,  and  thus  introduces  him  to  a  series  of 
adventures  which,  under  ordinary  circumstances, 
could  occur  only  to  a  plurality  of  persons.  The 
chief  source  of  interest  in  such  narrative  is,  or 
should  be,  the  contrasting  of  these  varied  events, 
in  their  influence  upon  a  character  unchanging 
—  except  as  changed  by  the  events  themselves. 
This  fruitful  field  of  interest,  however,  is  neg- 
lected in  the  novel  before  us,  where  the  hero, 
very  awkwardly,  partially  loses,  and  partially 
does  not  lose,  his  identity,  at  each  transmigra- 
tion. The  sole  object  here  in  the  various  me- 
tempsychoses seems  to  be,  merely  the  depicting 
of  seven  different  conditions  of  existence,  and  the 
enforcement  of  the  very  doubtful  moral  that 
every  person  should  remain  contented  with  his 
own.  But  it  is  clear  that  both  these  points  could 
110 


BIRD'S    "  THE  HAWKS  OF    HAWK-HOLLOW  " 

have  been  more  forcibly  shown,  without  any 
reference  to  a  confused  and  jarring  system  of 
transmigration,  by  the  mere  narrations  of  seven 
different  individuals.  All  deviations,  especially 
wide  ones,  from  nature,  should  be  justified  to  the 
author  by  some  specific  object;  the  object,  in  the 
present  case,  might  have  been  found,  as  above 
mentioned,  in  the  opportunity  afforded  of  de- 
picting widely  different  conditions  of  existence 
actuating  one  individual. 

A  second  peculiarity  of  the  species  of  novel 
to  which  "  Sheppard  Lee  "  belongs,  and  a  pecu- 
liarity which  is  not  rejected  by  the  author,  is  the 
treating  the  whole  narrative  in  a  jocular  man- 
ner throughout  (inasmuch  as  to  say  "  I  know  I 
am  writing  nonsense,  but  then  you  must  excuse 
me  for  the  very  reason  that  I  know  it ") ,  or  the 
solution  of  the  various  absurdities  by  means 
of  a  dream,  or  something  similar.  The  latter 
method  is  adopted  in  the  present  instance  —  and 
the  idea  is  managed  with  unusual  ingenuity. 
Still  —  having  read  through  the  whole  book,  and 
having  been  worried  to  death  with  incongruities 
(allowing  such  to  exist)  until  the  concluding 
page,  it  is  certainly  little  indemnification  for  OUT 
sufferings  to  learn  that,  in  truth,  the  whole  mat- 
ter was  a  dream,  and  that  we  were  very  wrong 
in  being  worried  about  it  at  all.  The  damage  is 
done,  and  the  apology  does  not  remedy  the  griev- 
ance. For  this  and  other  reasons,  we  are  led  to 
111 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

prefer,  in  this  kind  of  writing,  the  second  gen- 
eral method  to  which  we  have  alluded.  It  con- 
sists in  a  variety  of  points :  —  principally  in  avoid- 
ing, as  may  easily  be  done,  that  directness  of  ex- 
pression which  we  have  noticed  in  "  Sheppard 
Lee/*  and  thus  leaving  much  to  the  imagination; 
in  writing  as  if  the  author  were  firmly  impressed 
with  the  truth,  yet  astonished  at  the  immensity 
of  the  wonders  he  relates,  and  for  which,  pro- 
fessedly, he  neither  claims  nor  anticipates  cre- 
dence; in  minuteness  of  detail,  especially  upon 
points  which  have  no  immediate  bearing  upon  the 
general  story  —  this  minuteness  not  being  at 
variance  with  indirectness  of  expression;  in  short, 
by  making  use  of  the  infinity  of  arts  which  give 
verisimilitude  to  a  narration,  and  by  leaving  the 
result  as  a  wonder  not  to  be  accounted  for.  It 
.will  be  found  that  bizarreries  thus  conducted, 
are  usually  far  more  effective  than  those  other- 
wise managed.  The  attention  of  the  author,  who 
does  not  depend  upon  explaining  away  his  in- 
credibilities, is  directed  to  giving  them  the  char- 
acter and  the  luminousness  of  truth,  and  thus 
are  brought  about,  unwittingly,  some  of  the  most 
vivid  creations  of  human  intellect.  The  reader, 
too,  readily  perceives  and  falls  in  with  the  writer's 
humor,  and  suffers  himself  to  be  borne  on 
thereby.  On  the  other  hand,  what  difficulty,  or  in- 
convenience, or  danger  can  there  be  in  leaving  us 
uninformed  of  the  important  facts  that  a  cer- 


BIRD'S    "THE  HAWKS  OF    HAWK-HOLLOW" 

tain  hero  did  not  actually  discover  the  elixir 
vitce,  could  not  really  make  himself  really  in- 
visible, and  was  not  either  a  ghost  in  good  earnest, 
or  a  bona  fide  wandering  Jew? 


SIMMS'S  "THE  WIGWAM  AND 
THE  CABIN" 

MR.  SIMMS,  we  believe,  made  his  first,  or 
nearly  his  first,  appearance  before  an 
American  audience  with  a  small  volume  entitled 
"  Martin  Faber,"  an  amplification  of  a  much 
shorter  fiction.  He  had  some  difficulty  in  get- 
ting it  published,  but  the  Harpers  finally  under- 
took it,  and  it  did  credit  to  their  judgment.  It 
was  well  received  both  by  the  public  and  the  more 
discriminative  few,  although  some  of  the  critics 
objected  that  the  story  was  an  imitation  of 
"  Miserrimus,"  a  very  powerful  fiction  by  the 
author  of  "  Pickwick  Abroad."  The  original 
tale,  however  —  the  germ  of  "Martin  Faber" 
• — was  written  long  before  the  publication  of 
"  Miserrimus."  But  independently  of  this  fact, 
there  is  not  the  slightest  ground  for  the  charge 
of  imitation.  The  thesis  and  incidents  of  the  two 
works  are  totally  dissimilar;  the  idea  of  resem- 
blance arises  only  from  the  absolute  identity  of 
effect  wrought  by  both. 

"  Martin  Faber "  was  succeeded,  at  short  in- 
tervals, by  a  great  number  and  variety  of  fictions, 
some  brief,  but  many  of  the  ordinary  novel  size. 
Among   these  we  may  notice  "  Guy  Rivers," 
114 


SIMMS'S  "THE  WIGWAM  AND  THE  CABIN" 

"The  Partisan,"  "The  Yemassee,"  "  Melli- 
champe,"  "  Beauchampe,"  and  "  Richard  Hur- 
dis." The  last  two  were  issued  anonymously, 
the  author  wishing  to  ascertain  whether  the  suc- 
cess of  his  books  (which  was  great)  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  his  mere  name  as  the  writer  of 
previous  works.  The  result  proved  that  popu- 
larity, in  Mr.  Simms's  case,  arose  solely  from 
intrinsic  merit,  for  "  Beauchampe  "  and  "  Rich- 
ard Hurdis"  were  the  most  popular  of  his  fic- 
tions, and  excited  very  general  attention  and 
curiosity.  "  Border  Beagles  "  was  another  of  his 
anonymous  novels,  published  with  the  same  end 
in  view,  and,  although  disfigured  by  some  in- 
stances of  bad  taste,  was  even  more  successful 
than  "  Richard  Hurdis." 

The  "  bad  taste  "  of  the  "  Border  Beagles  " 
was  more  particularly  apparent  in  "  The  Par- 
tisan," "  The  Yemassee,"  and  one  or  two  other 
of  the  author's  earlier  works,  and  displayed  it- 
self most  offensively  in  a  certain  fondness  for  the 
purely  disgusting  or  repulsive,  where  the  inten- 
tion was  or  should  have  been  merely  the  horrible. 
The  writer  evinced  a  strange  propensity  for  mi- 
nute details  of  human  and  brute  suffering,  and 
even  indulged  at  times  in  more  unequivocal  ob- 
scenities. His  English,  too,  was,  in  his  efforts, 
exceedingly  ob j  ectionable  —  verbose,  involute, 
and  not  unfrequently  ungrammatical.  He  was 
especially  given  to  pet  words,  of  which  we  re- 
115 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

member  at  present  only  "  hug,"  "  coil,"  and  the 
compound  "  old-time,"  and  introduced  them 
upon  all  occasions.  Neither  was  he  at  this  period 
particularly  dexterous  in  the  conduct  of  his 
stories.  His  improvement,  however,  was  rapid 
at  all  these  points,  although,  on  the  two  first 
counts  of  our  indictment,  there  is  still  abundant 
room  for  improvement.  But  whatever  may  have 
been  his  early  defects,  or  whatever  are  his  pres- 
ent errors,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  from  the 
very  beginning  he  gave  evidence  of  genius,  and 
that  of  no  common  order.  His  "  Martin  Faber," 
in  our  opinion,  is  a  more  forcible  story  than  its 
supposed  prototype,  "  Miserrimus."  The  dif- 
ference in  the  American  reception  of  the  two  is 
to  be  referred  to  the  fact  (we  blush  while  record- 
ing it)  that  "  Miserrimus  "  was  understood  to  be 
the  work  of  an  Englishman,  and  "  Martin 
Faber  "  was  known  to  be  the  composition  of  an 
American  as  yet  unaccredited  in  our  Republic 
of  Letters.  The  fiction  of  Mr.  Simms  gave  in- 
dication, we  repeat,  of  genius,  and  that  of  no 
common  order.  Had  he  been  even  a  Yankee,  this 
genius  would  have  been  rendered  immediately 
manifest  to  his  countrymen,  but  unhappily  (per- 
haps) he  was  a  Southerner,  and  united  the 
Southern  pride,  the  Southern  dislike  to  the  mak- 
ing of  bargains,  with  the  Southern  supineness 
and  general  want  of  tact  in  all  matters  relating 
to  the  making  of  money.  His  book,  therefore, 
116 


SIMMS'S  "THE  WIGWAM  AND  THE  CABIN" 

depended  entirely  upon  its  own  intrinsic  value 
and  resources,  but  with  these  it  made  its  way  in 
the  end.  The  "  intrinsic  value  "  consisted  first  of 
a  very  vigorous  imagination  in  the  conception  of 
the  story ;  secondly,  in  artistic  skill  manifested  in 
its  conduct ;  thirdly,  in  general  vigor,  life,  move- 
ment—  the  whole  resulting  in  deep  interest  on 
the  part  of  the  reader.  These  high  qualities 
Mr.  Simms  has  carried  with  him  in  his  subsequent 
books;  and  they  are  qualities  which,  above  all 
others,  the  fresh  and  vigorous  intellect  of  Amer- 
ica should  and  does  esteem.  It  may  be  said, 
upon  the  whole,  that  while  there  are  several  of 
our  native  writers  who  excel  the  author  of  "  Mar- 
tin Faber  "  at  particular  points,  there  is,  never- 
theless, not  one  who  surpasses  him  in  the  aggre- 
gate of  the  higher  excellences  of  fiction.  We 
confidently  expect  him  to  do  much  for  the  lighter 
literature  of  his  country. 

The  volume  now  before  us  has  a  title  which 
may  mislead  the  reader.  "  The  Wigwam  and 
the  Cabin  "  is  merely  a  generic  phrase,  intended 
to  designate  the  subject-matter  of  a  series  of 
short  tales,  most  of  which  have  first  seen  the  light 
in  the  Annuals.  "  The  material  employed,"  says 
the  author,  "  will  be  found  to  illustrate,  in  large 
degree,  the  border  history  of  the  South.  I  can 
speak  with  confidence  of  the  general  truthful- 
ness of  its  treatment.  The  life  of  the  planter, 
the  squatter,  the  Indian,  the  negro,  the  bold 
117 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

and  hardy  pioneer,  and  the  vigorous  yeoman 
—  these  are  the  subjects.  In  their  delineation 
I  have  mostly  drawn  from  living  portraits, 
and,  in  frequent  instances,  from  actual  scenes 
and  circumstances  within  the  memories  of 
men." 

All  the  tales  in  this  collection  have  merit,  and 
the  first  has  merit  of  a  very  peculiar  kind. 
"  Grayling,  or  Murder  will  Out,"  is  the  title. 
The  story  was  well  received  in  England,  hut  on 
this  fact  no  opinion  can  be  safely  based.  The 
"Athenaeum,"  we  believe,  or  some  other  of  the 
London  weekly  critical  journals,  having  its 
attention  called  (no  doubt  through  personal 
influence)  to  Carey  and  Hart's  beautiful  annual 
"  The  Gift,"  found  it  convenient,  in  the  course 
of  its  notice,  to  speak  at  length  of  some  one  par- 
ticular article,  and  "  Murder  Will  Out "  prob- 
ably arrested  the  attention  of  the  sub-editor  who 
was  employed  in  so  trivial  a  task  as  the  patting 
on  the  head  an  American  book  —  arrested  his 
attention  first  from  its  title  (murder  being  a  tak- 
ing theme  with  the  cockney),  and  secondly,  from 
its  details  of  Southern  forest  scenery.  Large 
quotations  were  made,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
and  very  ample  commendation  bestowed  —  the 
whole  criticism  proving  nothing,  in  our  opinion, 
but  that  the  critic  had  not  read  a  single  syllable 
of  the  story.  The  critique,  however,  had  at  least 
the  good  effect  of  calling  American  attention 
118 


SIMMS'S  "  THE  WIGWAM  AND  THE  CABIN  " 

to  the  fact  that  an  American  might  possibly 
do  a  decent  thing  (provided  the  possibility  were 
first  admitted  by  the  British  sub-editors),  and 
the  result  was,  first,  that  many  persons  read, 
and  secondly,  that  all  persons  admired,  the  "  ex- 
cellent story  in  '  The  Gift '  tfiat  had  actually 
been  called  'readable'  by  one  of  the  English 
newspapers." 

Now  had  "  Murder  Will  Out "  been  a  much 
worse  story  than  was  ever  written  by  Professor 
Ingraham,  still,  under  the  circumstances,  we 
patriotic  and  independent  Americans  would  have 
declared  it  inimitable;  but,  by  some  species  of 
odd  accident,  it  happened  to  deserve  all  that  the 
British  "  sub-sub  "  had  condescended  to  say  of 
it,  on  the  strength  of  a  guess  as  to  what  it  was 
all  about.  It  is  really  an  admirable  tale,  nobly 
conceived,  and  skilfully  carried  into  execution 
— •  the  best  ghost-story  ever  written  by  an  Ameri- 
can—  for  we  presume  that  this  is  the  ultimate 
extent  of  commendation  to  which  we,  as  an 
humble  American,  dare  go. 

The  other  stories  of  the  volume  do  credit  to 
the  author's  abilities,  and  display  their  pecu- 
liarities in  a  strong  light,  but  there  is  no  one 
of  them  so  good  as  "  Murder  Will  Out." 


119 


HENRY   COCKTON'S    "STANLEY1 
THORN  " 

/CHARLES  O'MALLEY,"  "Harry  Lor- 
VJ  requer,"  "Valentine  Vox,"  "Stanley 
Thorn,"  and  some  other  effusions,  are  novels 
depending  for  effect  upon  what  gave  popularity 
to  "  Peregrine  Pickle  "  —  we  mean  practical 
joke.  To  men  whose  animal  spirits  are  high, 
whatever  may  be  their  mental  ability,  such  works 
are  always  acceptable.  To  the  uneducated, 
to  those  who  read  little,  to  the  obtuse  in  intellect 
(and  these  three  classes  constitute  the  mass), 
these  books  are  not  only  acceptable,  but  are  the 
only  ones  which  can  be  called  so.  We  here  make 
two  divisions — -that  of  the  men  who  can  think 
but  who  dislike  thinking;  and  that  of  the  men 
who  either  have  not  been  presented  with  the 
materials  for  thought,  or  who  have  no  brains 
with  which  to  "  work  up  "  the  material.  With 
these  classes  of  people  "  Stanley  Thorn "  is  a 
favorite.  It  not  only  demands  no  reflection,  but 
repels  it  or  dissipates  it,  much  as  a  silver  rattle 
the  wrath  of  a  child.  It  is  not  in  the  least  de- 
gree suggestive.  Its  readers  arise  from  its 
perusal  with  the  identical  idea  in  possession  at 
sitting  down.  Yet,  during  perusal,  there  has 
120 


HENRY  COCKTON'S  "  STANLEY  THORN  " 

been  a  tingling  physico-mental  exhilaration, 
somewhat  like  that  induced  by  a  cold  bath,  or 
a  flesh-brush,  or  a  gallop  on  horseback  —  a  very 
delightful  and  very  healthful  matter  in  its  way. 
But  these  things  are  not  letters.  "Valentine 
Vox "  and  "  Charles  O'Malley "  are  no  more 
literature  than  cat-gut  is  music.  The  visible  and 
tangible  tricks  of  a  baboon  belong  not  less  to 
the  belles-lettres  than  does  "  Harry  Lorrequer." 
When  this  gentleman  adorns  his  countenance 
with  lamp-black,  knocks  over  an  apple-woman, 
or  brings  about  a  rent  in  his  pantaloons,  we 
laugh  at  him  when  bound  up  in  a  volume  just 
as  we  would  laugh  at  his  adventures  if  happen- 
ing before  our  eyes  in  the  street.  But  mere  in- 
cidents, whether  serious  or  comic,  whether  occur- 
ring or  described  —  mere  incidents  are  not  books. 
Neither  are  they  the  basis  of  books  —  of  which 
the  idiosyncrasy  is  thought  in  contradistinction 
from  deed.  A  book  without  action  cannot  be ;  but 
a  book  is  only  such,  to  the  extent  of  its  thought, 
independently  of  its  deed.  Thus  of  Algebra; 
which  is,  or  should  be,  defined  as  "  a  mode  of 
computing  with  symbols  by  means  of  signs." 
With  numbers,  as  Algebra,  it  has  nothing  to 
do;  and  although  no  algebraic  computation  can 
proceed  without  numbers,  yet  Algebra  is  only 
such  to  the  extent  of  its  analysis,  independently 
of  its  Arithmetic. 

We  do  not  mean  to  find  fault  with  the  class 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

of  performances  of  which  "  Stanley  Thorn " 
is  one.  Whatever  tends  to  the  amusement 
of  man  tends  to  his  benefit.  Aristotle,  with 
singular  assurance,  has  declared  poetry  the  most 
philosophical  of  all  writing,  (onovBaioraTov  KOI 
<Mooo<l>c!>TaTov  Y^VOC)  defending  it  principally 
upon  that  score.  He  seems  to  think,  and  many 
following  him  have  thought,  that  the  end  of  all 
literature  should  be  instruction  —  a  favorite 
dogma  of  the  school  of  Wordsworth.  But  it  is  a 
truism  that  the  end  of  our  existence  is  happiness. 
If  so,  the  end  of  every  separate  aim  of  our  ex- 
istence, of  everything  connected  with  our  ex- 
istence, should  be  still  —  happiness.  Therefore, 
the  end  of  instruction  should  be  happiness;  and 
happiness  —  what  is  it  but  the  extent  or  duration 
of  pleasure?  therefore,  the  end  of  instruction 
should  be  pleasure.  But  the  cant  of  the  Lakists 
would  establish  the  exact  converse,  and  make  the 
end  of  all  pleasure  instruction.  In  fact,  ceteris 
paribus,  he  who  pleases  is  of  more  importance  to 
his  fellow-man  than  he  who  instructs,  since  the 
dulce  is  alone  the  utile,  and  pleasure  is  the  end 
already  attained,  which  instruction  is  merely  the 
means  of  attaining.  It  will  be  said  that  Words- 
worth, with  Aristotle,  has  reference  to  instruction 
with  eternity  in  view;  but  either  such  cannot  be 
the  tendency  of  his  argument,  or  he  is  laboring  at 
a  sad  disadvantage;  for  his  works  —  or  at  least 
those  of  his  school  —  are  professedly  to  be  under- 


HENRY  COCKTON'S  "  STANLEY  THORN  " 

stood  by  the  few,  and  it  is  the  many  who  stand  in 
need  of  salvation.  Thus  the  moralist's  parade 
of  measures  would  be  as  completely  thrown 
away  as  are  those  of  the  devil  in  "  Melmoth," 
who  plots  and  counterplots  through  three  octavo 
volumes  for  the  entrapment  of  one  or  two  souls, 
while  any  common  devil  would  have  demolished 
one  or  two  thousand. 

When,  therefore,  we  assert  that  these  prac- 
tical-joke publications  are  not  "  literature,"  be- 
cause not  "  thoughtful "  in  any  degree,  we  must 
not  be  understood  as  objecting  to  the  thing  in 
itself  but  to  its  claims  upon  our  attention  as 
critic.  Dr.  —  what  is  his  name?  —  strings  to- 
gether a  number  of  facts  or  fancies  which,  when 
printed,  answer  the  laudable  purpose  of  amus- 
ing a  very  large,  if  not  a  very  respectable  num- 
ber of  people.  To  this  proceeding  upon  the 
part  of  the  Doctor,  or  on  the  part  of  his  imitator, 
Mr.  Jeremy  Stockton,  the  author  of  "  Valentine 
Vox,"  we  can  have  no  objection  whatever.  His 
books  do  not  please  us.  We  will  not  read  them. 
Still  less  shall  we  speak  of  them  seriously  as 
books.  Being  in  no  respect  works  of  art,  they 
neither  deserve  nor  are  amenable  to  criticism. 

"  Stanley  Thorn  "  may  be  described,  in  brief, 
as  a  collection,  rather  than  as  a  series,  of  prac- 
tical haps  and  mishaps,  befalling  a  young  man 
very  badly  brought  up  by  his  mother.  He  flogs 
his  father  with  a  codfish,  and  does  other  similar 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

things.  We  have  no  fault  to  find  with  him  what- 
ever, except  that,  in  the  end,  he  does  not  come  to 
the  gallows. 

We  have  no  great  fault  to  find  with  him,  but 
with  Mr.  Bockton,  his  father,  much.  He  is  a 
consummate  plagiarist;  and,  in  our  opinion, 
nothing  more  despicable  exists.  There  is  not  a 
good  incident  in  his  book  (?)  of  which  we  can- 
not point  out  the  paternity  with  at  least  a  suffi- 
cient precision.  The  opening  adventures  are  all 
in  the  style  of  "  Cyril  Thornton."  Bob,  follow- 
ing Amelia  in  disguise,  is  borrowed  from  one  of 
the  Smollett  or  Fielding  novels  —  there  are  many 
of  our  readers  who  will  be  able  to  say  which.  The 
cab  driven  over  the  Crescent  trottoir,  is  from 
Pierce  Egan.  The  swindling  tricks  of  Colonel 
Somebody,  at  the  commencement  of  the  novel, 
and  of  Captain  Filcher  afterwards,  are  from 
"Pickwick  Abroad."  The  doings  at  Madame 
Pompour's  (or  some  such  name)  with  the 
description  of  Isabelle,  are  from  "35carte,  or 
the  Salons  of  Paris  " —  a  rich  book.  The  Sons- 
of -Glory  scene  (or  its  wraith)  we  have  seen  — 
somewhere;  while  (not  to  be  tedious)  the  whole 
account  of  Stanley's  election,  from  his  first  con- 
ception of  the  design,  through  the  entire  canvass, 
the  purchasing  of  the  "  Independents,"  the 
row  at  the  hustings,  the  chairing,  the  feast,  and 
the  petition,  is  so  obviously  stolen  from  "Ten 
Thousand  a  Year,"  as  to  be  disgusting.  Bob 


HENRY  COCKTON'S  "  STANLEY  THORN  " 

and  the  "old  venerable"  —  what  are  they  but 
feeble  reflections  of  young  and  old  Weller?  The 
tone  of  the  narration  throughout  is  an  absurd 
echo  of  Boz.  For  example  —  "  '  We  Ve  come 
agin  about  them  there  little  accounts  of  ourn  — 
question  is  do  you  mean  to  settle  'em  or  don't 
you? '  His  colleagues,  by  whom  he  was  backed, 
highly  approved  of  this  question,  and  winked 
and  nodded  with  the  view  of  intimating  to  each 
other  that  in  their  judgment  that  was  the 
point."  Who  so  dull  as  to  give  Mr.  Bogton  any 
more  credit  for  these  things  than  we  give  the 
buffoon  for  the  role  which  he  has  committed  to 
memory?  That  the  work  will  prove  amusing 
to  many  readers  we  do  not  pretend  to  deny; 
the  claims  of  Mr.  Frogton,  and  not  of  his 
narrative,  are  what  we  especially  discuss. 


125 


"  PETER  SNOOK  " 

IN  a  late  number  of  the  "  Democratic  Review  " 
there  appeared  a  very  excellent  paper  (by 
Mr.  Duyckinck)  on  the  subject  of  Magazine 
Literature — a  subject  much  less  thoroughly 
comprehended  here  than  either  in  France  or  in 
England.  In  America  we  compose,  now  and 
then,  agreeable  essays  and  other  matters  of  that 
character;  but  we  have  not  yet  caught  the  true 
Magazine  spirit  —  a  thing  neither  to  be  defined 
nor  described.  Mr.  Duyckinck's  article,  al- 
though piquant,  is  not  altogether  to  our  mind. 
We  think  he  places  too  low  an  estimate  on  the 
capability  of  the  Magazine  paper.  He  is  in- 
clined to  undervalue  its  power;  to  limit  unneces- 
sarily its  province,  which  is  illimitable.  In  fact, 
it  is  in  the  extent  of  subject,  and  not  less  in  the 
extent  or  variety  of  tone,  that  the  French  and 
English  surpass  us  to  so  good  a  purpose.  How 
very  rarely  are  we  struck  with  an  American 
Magazine  article  as  with  an  absolute  novelty; 
how  frequently  the  foreign  articles  so  affect  us! 
We  are  so  circumstanced  as  to  be  unable  to  pay 
for  elaborate  compositions ;  and,  after  all,  the  true 
invention  is  elaborate.  There  is  no  greater  mis- 
take than  the  supposition  that  a  true  originality 
126 


"PETER  SNOOK" 

is  a  mere  matter  of  impulse  or  inspiration.  To 
originate  is  carefully,  patiently,  and  understand- 
ingly  to  combine.  The  few  American  Maga- 
zinists  who  ever  think  of  this  elaboration  at  all 
cannot  afford  to  carry  it  into  practice  for  the 
paltry  prices  offered  them  by  our  periodical  pub- 
lishers. For  this  and  other  glaring  reasons,  we 
are  behind  the  age  in  a  very  important  branch  of 
literature;  a  branch  which,  moreover,  is  daily 
growing  in  importance;  and  which,  in  the  end 
(not  far  distant),  will  be  the  most  influential  of 
all  the  departments  of  Letters. 

We  are  lamentably  deficient,  not  only  in  inven- 
tion proper,  but  in  that  which  is,  more  strictly, 
art.  What  American,  for  instance,  in  penning  a 
criticism,  ever  supposes  himself  called  upon  to 
present  his  readers  with  more  than  the  exact 
stipulation  of  his  title  —  to  present  them  with  a 
criticism,  and  something  beyond?  Who  thinks 
of  making  his  critique  a  work  of  art  in  itself, 
independently  of  its  critical  opinions;  a  work  of 
art,  such  as  are  all  the  more  elaborate  and  most 
effective  reviews  of  Macaulay?  Yet  these  re- 
views we  have  evinced  no  incapacity  to  appre- 
ciate, when  presented.  The  best  American 
review  ever  penned  is  miserably  ineffective 
when  compared  with  the  notice  of  Montagu's 
"Bacon";  and  yet  this  latter  is,  in  general,  a 
piece  of  tawdry  sophistry,  owing  everything  to  a 
consummate,  to  an  exquisite  arrangement,  to  a 
127 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

thorough  and  just  sufficiently  comprehensive  dif- 
fuseness,  to  a  masterly  climaxing  of  points,  to  a 
style  which  dazzles  the  understanding  with  its 
brilliancy,  but  not  more  than  it  misleads  it  by  its 
perspicuity  —  causing  us  so  distinctly  to  com- 
prehend that  we  fancy  we  coincide:  in  a  word, 
to  the  perfection  of  art  —  of  all  the  art  which  a 
Macaulay  can  wield,  or  which  is  applicable  to  any 
criticism  that  a  Macaulay  could  write. 

It  is,  however,  in  the  composition  of  that  class 
of  Magazine  papers  which  come  properly  under 
the  head  of  Tales,  that  we  evince  the  most  re- 
markable deficiency  in  skill.  If  we  except, 
first,  Mr.  Hawthorne  —  secondly,  Mr.  Simms 
—  thirdly,  Mr.  Willis  —  and  fourthly,  one  or 
two  others  whom  we  may  as  well  put  mentally 
together  without  naming  them  —  there  is  not 
even  a  respectably  skilful  tale-writer  on  this  side 
the  Atlantic.  We  have  seen,  to  be  sure,  many 
very  well-constructed  stories,  individual  speci- 
mens, the  work  of  American  Magazinists;  but 
these  specimens  have  invariably  appeared  to  be 
happy  accidents  of  construction ;  their  authors,  in 
subsequent  tales,  having  always  evinced  an  in- 
capacity to  construct. 

We  have  been  led  to  a  comparison  of  the 
American  with  the  British  ability  in  tale-writing 
by  a  perusal  of  some  Magazine  papers,  the  com- 
position of  the  author  of  "  Chartley  "  and  "  The 
Invisible  Gentleman."  He  is  one  of  the  best 
128 


"PETER  SNOOK" 

of  the  English  journalists,  and  has  some  of  the 
happiest  peculiarities  of  Dickens,  whom  he  pre- 
ceded in  the  popular  favor.  The  longest  and 
best  of  his  tales,  properly  so  called,  is  "  Peter 
Snook,"  and  this  presents  so  many  striking  points 
for  the  consideration  of  the  Magazinist  that  we 
feel  disposed  to  give  an  account  of  it  in  full. 

Peter  Snook,  the  hero,  and  the  beau  ideal  of  a 
Cockney,  is  a  retail  linen-draper  in  Bishopgate 
Street.  He  is,  of  course,  a  stupid  and  conceited, 
although,  at  bottom,  a  very  good  little  fellow, 
and  "always  looks  as  if  he  was  frightened." 
Matters  go  on  very  thrivingly  with  him  until  he 
becomes  acquainted  with  Miss  Clarinda  Bodkin, 
"  a  young  lady,  owning  to  almost  thirty,  and 
withal  a  great  proficient  in  the  mysteries  of 
millinery  and  mantua-making."  Love  and  ambi- 
tion, however,  set  the  little  gentleman  somewhat 
beside  himself.  "If  Miss  Clarinda  would  but 
have  me,"  says  he,  "  we  might  divide  the  shop, 
and  have  a  linen-drapery  side,  and  a  haber- 
dashery and  millinery  side,  and  one  would  help 
the  other.  There  'd  be  only  one  rent  to  pay, 
and  a  double  business  —  and  it  would  be  so  com- 
fortable, too !  "  Thinking  thus,  Peter  commences 
a  flirtation,  to  which  Miss  Clarinda  but  doubt- 
fully responds.  He  escorts  the  lady  to  White 
Conduit  House,  Bagnigge  Wells,  and  other 
genteel  places  of  public  resort,  —  and,  finally,  is 
so  rash  as  to  accede  to  the  proposition,  on  her 
129 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

part,  of  a  trip  to  Margate.  At  this  epoch  of  the 
narrative,  the  writer  observes  that  the  subsequent 
proceedings  of  the  hero  are  gathered  from  ac- 
counts rendered  by  himself,  when  called  upon, 
after  the  trip,  for  explanation. 

It  is  agreed  that  Miss  Clarinda  shall  set  out 
alone  for  Margate  —  Mr.  Snook  following  her, 
after  some  indispensable  arrangements.  These 
occupy  him  until  the  middle  of  July,  at  which 
period,  taking  passage  in  the  "  Rose  in  June,"  he 
safely  reaches  his  destination.  But  various  mis- 
fortunes here  await  him,  misfortunes  admirably 
adapted  to  the  meridian  of  Cockney  feeling  and 
the  capacity  of  Cockney  endurance.  His  um- 
brella, for  example,  and  a  large  brown  paper 
parcel,  containing  a  new  pea-green  coat  and 
flower-patterned  embroidered  silk  waistcoat,  are 
tumbled  into  the  water  at  the  landing-place,  and 
Miss  Bodkin  forbids  him  her  presence  in  his  old 
clothes.  By  a  tumble  of  his  own,  too,  the  skin 
is  rubbed  from  both  his  shins  for  several  inches, 
and  the  surgeon,  having  no  regard  to  the  lover's 
cotillion  engagements,  enjoins  on  him  a  total 
abstinence  from  dancing.  A  cock-chafer,  more- 
over, is  at  the  trouble  of  flying  into  one  of  his 
eyes,  and  (worse  than  all)  a  tall  military-looking 
shoemaker,  Mr.  Last,  has  taken  advantage  of  the 
linen-draper's  delay  in  reaching  Margate,  to 
ingratiate  himself  with  his  mistress.  Finally,  he 
is  cut  by  Last,  and  rejected  by  the  lady,  and  has 
130 


"PETER  SNOOK" 

nothing  left  for  it  but  to  secure  a  homeward  pas- 
sage in  the  "  Rose  in  June." 

In  the  evening  of  the  second  day  after  his 
departure,  the  vessel  drops  anchor  off  Greenwich. 
Most  of  the  passengers  go  ashore,  with  the  view 
of  taking  the  stage  to  the  city.  Peter,  however, 
who  considers  that  he  has  already  spent  money 
enough  to  no  purpose,  prefers  remaining  on 
board.  "  We  shall  get  to  Billingsgate,"  says  he, 
"  while  I  am  sleeping,  and  I  shall  have  plenty 
of  time  to  go  home  and  dress,  and  go  into  the 
city  and  borrow  the  trifle  I  may  want  for  Pester 
and  Company's  bill,  that  comes  due  the  day  after 
to-morrow."  This  determination  is  a  source  of 
much  trouble  to  our  hero,  as  will  be  seen  in  the 
sequel.  Some  shopmen  who  remain  with  him 
in  the  packet  tempt  him  to  unusual  indulgences, 
in  the  way,  first,  of  brown  stout,  and,  secondly, 
of  positive  French  brandy.  The  consequence 
is,  that  Mr.  Snook  falls,  thirdly,  asleep,  and, 
fourthly,  overboard. 

About  dawn  on  the  morning  after  this  event, 
Ephraim  Hobson,  the  confidential  clerk  and 
factotum  of  Mr.  Peter  Snook,  is  disturbed  from  a 
sound  sleep  by  the  sudden  appearance  of  his 
master.  That  gentleman  seems  to  be  quite  in  a 
bustle,  and  delights  Ephraim  with  an  account  of 
a  whacking  wholesale  order  for  exportation  just 
received.  "Not  a  word  to  anybody  about  the 
matter! "  exclaims  Peter,  with  unusual  emphasis. 
131 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

"  It 's  such  an  opportunity  as  don't  come  often 
in  a  man's  lifetime.  There 's  a  captain  of  a  ship 
• — he's  the  owner  of  her,  too;  but  never  mind! 
there  ain't  time  to  enter  into  particulars  now, 
but  you  '11  know  all  by  and  by  —  all  you  have 
to  do  is  to  do  as  I  tell  you  —  so,  come  along !  " 

Setting  Ephraim  to  work,  with  directions  to 
pack  up  immediately  all  the  goods  in  the  shop 
with  the  exception  of  a  few  trifling  articles,  the 
master  avows  his  intention  of  going  into  the  city 
"to  borrow  enough  money  to  make  up  Fester's 
bill,  due  to-morrow."  "  I  don't  think  you  '11 
want  much,  Sir,"  replied  Mr.  Hobson  with  a  self- 
complacent  air.  "  I  've  been  looking  up  the  long- 
winded  'uns,  you  see,  since  you  've  been  gone,  and 
I  Ve  got  Shy's  money  and  Slack's  account,  which 
we  'd  pretty  well  given  up  for  a  bad  job,  and 
one  or  two  more.  There,  —  there  's  the  list  —  and 
there 's  the  key  to  the  strong  box,  where  you  '11 
find  the  money,  besides  what  I  've  took  at  the 
counter."  Peter  at  this  seems  well  pleased,  and 
shortly  afterwards  goes  out,  saying  he  cannot 
tell  when  he  '11  be  back,  and  giving  directions  that 
whatever  goods  may  be  sent  in  during  his  absence 
shall  be  left  untouched  till  his  return. 

It  appears  that,  after  leaving  his  shop,  Mr. 
Snook  proceeded  to  that  of  Jobb,  Flashbill  and 
Co.  (one  of  whose  clerks,  on  board  the  "  Rose 
in  June,"  had  been  very  liberal  in  supplying  our 
hero  with  brandy  on  the  night  of  his  ducking), 
132 


"PETER  SNOOK" 

looked  over  a  large  quantity  of  ducks  and  other 
goods,  and  finally  made  purchase  of  "a  choice 
assortment "  to  be  delivered  the  same  day.  His 
next  visit  was  to  Mr.  Bluff,  the  managing  part- 
ner in  the  banking-house  where  he  usually  kept 
his  cash.  His  business  now  was  to  request  per- 
mission to  overdraw  a  hundred  pounds  for  a  few 
days. 

"  '  Humph,'  said  Mr.  Bluff,  '  money  is  very  scarce ; 
but  —  Bless  me !  —  yes  —  it 's  he !  Excuse  me  a  min- 
ute, Mr.  Snook,  there  's  a  gentleman  at  the  front  coun- 
ter whom  I  want  particularly  to  speak  to  —  I  '11  be 
back  with  you  directly.'  As  he  uttered  these  words,  he 
rushed  out,  and,  in  passing  one  of  the  clerks  on  his  way 
forward,  he  whispered,  '  Tell  Scribe  to  look  at  Snook's 
account,  and  let  me  know  directly.'  He  then  went  to 
the  front  counter,  where  several  people  were  waiting 
to  pay  and  receive  money.  'Fine  weather  this,  Mr. 
Butt.  What !  you  're  not  out  of  town  like  the  rest  of 
them?' 

"  *  No,'  replied  Mr.  Butt,  who  kept  a  thriving  gin- 
shop,  '  no,  I  sticks  to  my  business  —  make  hay  while 
the  sun  shines  —  that 's  my  maxim.  Wife  up  at  night 
—  I  up  early  in  the  morning.' 

"  The  banker  chatted  and  listened  with  great  appar- 
ent interest,  till  the  closing  of  a  huge  book  on  which 
he  kept  his  eye  told  him  that  his  whispered  order  had 
been  attended  to.  He  then  took  a  gracious  leave  of 
Mr.  Butt,  and  returned  back  to  the  counting-house 
with  a  slip  of  paper,  adroitly  put  in  his  hand  while 
passing,  on  which  was  written,  '  Peter  Snook,  Linen 
Draper,  Bishopgate  Street  —  old  account  —  increas- 
ing gradually  —  balance :  £153  15$.  6d.  —  very  regu- 
133 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

lar.'  '  Sorry  to  keep  you  waiting,  Mr.  Snook,'  said  he, 
*  but  we  must  catch  people  when  we  can.  Well,  what 
is  it  you  were  saying  you  wanted  us  to  do?  ' 

"  *  I  should  like  to  be  able  to  overdraw  just  for  a  few 
days,'  replied  Peter. 

"'How  much?' 

"  <  A  hundred.' 

"'Won't  fifty  do?' 

"  *  No,  not  quite,  sir.' 

"  *  Well,  you  're  an  honest  fellow,  and  don't  come 
bothering  us  often;  so,  I  suppose  we  must  not  be  too 
particular  with  you  for  this  once.'  " 

Leaving  Bluff,  Mr.  Snook  hurries  to  overtake 
Mr.  Butt,  the  dealer  in  spirits,  who  had  just  left 
the  banking-house  before  himself,  and  to  give 
that  gentleman  an  order  for  a  hogshead  of  the 
best  gin.  As  he  is  personally  unknown  to  Mr. 
Butt,  he  hands  him  a  card,  on  which  is  written, 
"  Peter  Snook,  linen  and  muslin  warehouse,  No. 
—  Bishopgate  Street,  within,"  etc.,  etc.,  and 
takes  occasion  to  mention  that  he  purchases  at  the 
recommendation  of  Mr.  Bluff.  The  gin  is  to  be 
at  Queenhithe  the  same  evening.  The  spirit- 
dealer,  as  soon  as  his  new  customer  has  taken 
leave,  revolves  in  his  mind  the  oddity  of  a  linen- 
draper's  buying  a  hogshead  of  gin,  and  deter- 
mines to  satisfy  himself  of  Mr.  Snook's  respon- 
sibility by  a  personal  application  to  Mr.  Bluff. 
On  reaching  the  bank,  however,  he  is  told  by  the 
clerks  that  Mr.  Bluff,  being  in  attendance  upon  a 
committee  of  the  House  of  Commons,  will  not  be 
134 


"PETER  SNOOK" 

home  in  any  reasonable  time  —  but  also  that 
Peter  Snook  is  a  perfectly  safe  man.  The  gin  is 
accordingly  sent;  and  several  other  large  orders 
for  different  goods,  upon  other  houses,  are 
promptly  fulfilled  in  the  same  manner.  Mean- 
time Ephraim  is  busily  engaged  at  home  in  re- 
ceiving and  inspecting  the  invoices  of  the  various 
purchases  as  they  arrive,  at  which  employment  he 
is  occupied  until  dusk,  when  his  master  makes 
his  appearance  in  unusually  high  spirits.  We 
must  here  be  pardoned  for  copying  some  pas- 
sages:— 

"  '  Well,  Ephraim,'  he  exclaimed,  '  this  looks  some- 
thing like  business.  You  haven't  had  such  a  job  this 
many  a  day!  Shop  looks  well  now,  eh?  ' 

"  *  You  know  best,  sir,'  replied  Hobson.  *  But  hang 
me  if  I  ain't  frightened.  When  we  shall  sell  all  these 
goods,  I  'm  sure  I  can't  think.  You  talked  of  having 
a  haberdashery  side  to  the  shop;  but  if  we  go  on  at 
this  rate,  we  shall  want  another  side  for  ourselves ;  I  'm 
sure  I  don't  know  where  Miss  Bodkin  is  to  be  put.' 

"  *  She  go  to  Jericho ! '  said  Peter,  contemptuously. 
*  As  for  the  goods,  my  boy,  they  '11  be  gone  before  to- 
morrow morning.  All  you  and  I  have  got  to  do  is  to 
pack  'em  up ;  so,  let  us  turn  to,  and  strap  at  it.' 

"  Packing  was  Ephraim's  favorite  employment,  but 
on  the  present  occasion  he  set  to  work  with  a  heavy 
heart.  His  master,  on  the  contrary,  appeared  full  of 
life  and  spirits,  and  corded  boxes,  sewed  up  trusses, 
and  packed  huge  paper  parcels  with  a  celerity  and  an 
adroitness  truly  wonderful. 

"  *  Why,  you  don't  get  on,  Hobson,'  he  exclaimed ; 
135 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

'  see  what  I  've  done !  Where  's  the  ink-pot  ?  —  oh,  here 
it  is ! '  and  he  proceeded  to  mark  his  packages  with  his 
initials  and  the  letter  G  below.  '  There,'  he  resumed, 
4  P.  S.  G. ;  that 's  for  me,  at  Gravesend.  I  'm  to  meet 
the  Captain  and  owner  there,  show  the  goods  —  if 
there  's  any  he  don't  like,  shall  bring  'em  back  with  me ; 
get  bills  —  bankers'  acceptances  for  the  rest;  see  'em 
safe  on  board ;  then  —  but  not  before,  mind  that,  Mas- 
ter Ephraim!  No,  no,  keep  my  weather  eye  open,  as 
the  men  say  on  board  the  "  Rose  in  June."  By  the  bye, 
I  have  n't  told  you  yet  about  my  falling  overboard, 
whap  into  the  river.' 

"  '  Falling  overboard ! '  exclaimed  the  astonished 
shopman,  quitting  his  occupation  to  stand  erect  and 
listen. 

"  '  Ay,  ay,'  continued  Peter  — '  see  it  won't  do  to 
tell  you  long  stories  now.  There  —  mark  that  truss, 
will  you?  Know  all  about  it  some  day.  Lucky  job, 
though  —  tell  you  that :  got  this  thundering  order  by 
it.  Had  one  tumble,  first,  going  off,  at  Margate. 
Spoilt  my  pea-green  —  never  mind  —  that  was  a  lucky 
tumble,  too.  Had  n't  been  for  that,  should  n't  so  soon 
have  found  out  the  game  a  certain  person  was  playing 
with  me.  She  go  to  Jericho ! ' 

"  But  for  the  frequent  repetition  of  this  favorite  ex- 
pression, Ephraim  Hobson  has  since  declared  he  should 
have  doubted  his  master's  identity  during  the  whole  of 
that  evening,  as  there  was  something  very  singular 
about  him,  and  his  strength  and  activity  in  moving  the 
bales,  boxes,  and  trusses  were  such  as  he  had  never  pre- 
viously exhibited.  The  phrase  condemning  this,  that, 
or  the  other  thing  or  person  to  '  go  to  Jericho,'  was  the 
only  expression  that  he  uttered,  as  the  shopman  said, 
'  naturally,'  and  Peter  repeated  that  whimsical  anath- 
ema as  often  as  usual." 

136 


"PETER  SNOOK" 

The  goods  being  all  packed  up,  carts  arrive 
to  carry  them  away ;  and  by  half -past  ten  o'clock 
the  shop  is  entirely  cleared,  with  the  exception 
of  some  trifling  articles  to  make  show  on  the 
shelves  and  counters.  Two  hackney  coaches  are 
called.  Mr.  Peter  Snook  gets  into  one  with  a 
variety  of  loose  articles,  which  would  require  too 
much  time  to  pack,  and  his  shopman  into  an- 
other with  some  more.  Arriving  at  Queenhithe, 
they  find  all  the  goods,  previously  sent,  already 
embarked  in  the  hold  of  a  long-decked  barge 
which  lies  near  the  shore.  Mr.  Snook  now  insists 
upon  Ephraim's  going  on  board  and  taking  sup- 
per and  some  hot  rum  and  water.  This  advice 
he  follows  to  so  good  purpose  that  he  is,  at  length, 
completely  bewildered,  when  his  master,  taking 
him  up  in  his  arms,  carries  him  on  shore,  and 
there,  setting  him  down,  leaves  him  to  make  the 
best  of  his  way  home  as  he  can. 

About  eight,  the  next  morning,  Ephraim, 
awaking  of  course  in  a  sad  condition  both  of 
body  and  mind,  sets  himself  immediately  about 
arranging  the  appearance  of  the  shop,  "so  as 
to  secure  the  credit  of  the  concern."  In  spite  of 
all  his  ingenuity,  however,  it  maintains  a  poverty- 
stricken  appearance,  —  which  circumstance  ex- 
cites some  most  unreasonable  suspicions  in  the 
mind  of  Mr.  Bluff's  clerk,  upon  his  calling  at  ten, 
with  Pester  and  Co.'s  bill  (three  hundred  and 
sixteen  pounds,  seventeen  shillings),  and  re- 
137 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

ceiving,  by  way  of  payment,  a  check  upon  his 
own  banking-house  for  the  amount  —  Mr.  Snook 
having  written  this  check  before  his  departure 
with  the  goods,  and  left  it  with  Ephraim.  On 
reaching  the  bank,  therefore,  the  clerk  inquires 
if  Peter  Snook's  check  is  good  for  three  hundred 
and  sixteen  pounds  odd,  and  is  told  that  it  is  not 
worth  a  farthing,  Mr.  S. — having  overdrawn 
for  a  hundred.  While  Mr.  Bluff  and  his  assis- 
tants are  conversing  on  this  subject,  Butt,  the 
gin-dealer,  calls  to  thank  the  banker  for  hav- 
ing recommended  him  a  customer  —  which  the 
banker  denies  having  done.  An  explanation  en- 
sues, and  "  stop  thief! "  is  the  cry.  Ephraim  is 
sent  for,  and  reluctantly  made  to  tell  all  he  knows 
of  his  master's  proceedings  on  the  day  before,  by 
which  means  a  knowledge  is  obtained  of  the 
other  houses  who  (it  is  supposed)  have  been 
swindled.  Getting  a  description  of  the  barge 
which  conveyed  the  goods  from  Queenhithe,  the 
whole  party  of  the  creditors  now  set  off  in  pur- 
suit. 

About  dawn,  the  next  morning,  they  overtake 
the  barge,  a  little  below  Gravesend  —  when  four 
men  are  observed  leaving  her,  and  rowing  to  the 
shore  in  a  skiff.  Peter  Snook  is  found  sitting 
quietly  in  the  cabin,  and,  although  apparently 
a  little  surprised  at  seeing  Mr.  Pester,  betrays 
nothing  like  embarrassment  or  fear. 

"  *  Ah,  Mr.  Pester !  is  it  you  ?    Glad  to  see  you,  sir ! 
138 


"PETER  SNOOK" 

So  you  've  been  taking  a  trip  out  o'  town,  and  are 
going  back  with  us?  We  shall  get  to  Billingsgate  be- 
tween eight  and  nine,  they  say ;  and  I  hope  it  won't  be 
later,  as  I  've  a  bill  of  yours  comes  due  to-day,  and  I 
want  to  be  at  home  in  time  to  write  a  check  for  it.'  " 

The  goods  are  also  found  on  board,  together 
with  three  men  in  the  hold,  gagged,  and  tied  hand 
and  foot.  They  give  a  strange  account  of  them- 
selves. Being  in  the  employ  of  Mr.  Heaviside, 
a  lighterman,  they  were  put  in  charge  of  the 
"  Flitter,"  when  she  was  hired  by  Peter  Snook 
for  a  trip  to  Gravesend.  According  to  their 
orders,  they  took  the  barge  in  the  first  instance 
to  a  wharf,  near  Queenhithe,  and  helped  to  load 
her  with  some  goods  brought  down  in  carts. 
Mr.  Snook,  afterwards,  came  on  board,  bringing 
with  him  two  fierce-looking  men,  and  "a  little 
man  with  a  hooked  nose"  (Ephraim).  Mr. 

S and  the  little  man  then  "had  a  sort  of 

jollification"  in  the  cabin,  till  the  latter  got 
drunk  and  was  carried  ashore.  They  then  pro- 
ceeded down  the  river,  nothing  particular  occur- 
ring till  they  had  passed  Greenwich  Hospital, 

when  Mr.  S ordered  them  to  lay  the  barge 

alongside  a  large  blacksided  ship.  No  sooner 
was  the  order  obeyed  than  they  were  boarded 
by  a  number  of  men  from  said  ship,  who  seized 
them,  bound  them,  gagged  them,  and  put  them 
in  the  hold. 

The  immediate  consequence  of  this  information 
139 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

is  that  Peter  is  bound,  gagged,  and  put  down  into 
the  hold  in  the  same  manner,  by  way  of  retalia- 
tion, and  for  safe-keeping  on  his  way  back  to 
the  city.  On  the  arrival  of  the  party,  a  meeting 
of  the  creditors  is  called.  Peter  appears  before 
them  in  a  great  rage,  and  with  the  air  of  an  in- 
jured man.  Indeed,  his  behavior  is  so  mal  a 
propos  to  his  situation  as  entirely  to  puzzle  his 
interrogators.  He  accuses  the  whole  party  of 
a  conspiracy. 

"  *  Peter  Snook,'  said  Mr.  Pester,  solemnly,  from  the 
chair,  '  that  look  does  not  become  you  after  what  has 
passed.  Let  me  advise  you  to  conduct  yourself  with 
propriety.  You  will  find  that  the  best  policy,  depend 
on  't.' 

" '  A  pretty  thing  for  you,  for  to  come  to  talk  of 
propriety ! '  exclaimed  Peter ;  *  you,  that  seed  me  laid 
hold  on  by  a  set  of  ruffians,  and  never  said  a  word,  nor 
given  information  a'terwards!  And  here  have  I  been 
kept  away  from  business  I  don't  know  how  long,  and 
shut  up  like  a  dog  in  a  kennel ;  but  I  look  upon  't  you 
were  at  the  bottom  of  it  all  —  you  and  that  fellow  with 
the  plum-pudding  face,  as  blowed  me  up  about  a  cask 
of  gin !  What  you  both  mean  by  it  I  can  't  think ;  but 
if  there  's  any  law  in  the  land,  I  '11  make  you  remember 
it,  both  of  you  —  that's  what  I  will ! '  " 

Mr.  Snook  swears  that  he  never  saw  Jobb  in 
his  life,  except  on  the  occasion  of  his  capture 
in  "  The  Flitter,"  and  positively  denies  having 
looked  out  any  parcel  of  goods  at  the  house  of 
Jobb,  Flashbill  and  Co.  With  the  banker,  Mr. 
140 


"PETER  SNOOK" 

Bluff,  he  acknowledges  an  acquaintance  —  but 
not  having  drawn  for  the  two  hundred  and 
seventy  pounds  odd,  or  having  ever  overdrawn 
for  a  shilling  in  his  life.  Moreover,  he  is  clearly 
of  opinion  that  the  banker  has  still  in  his  hands 
more  than  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  of  his 
(Mr.  Snook's)  money.  He  can  designate  sev- 
eral gentlemen  as  being  no  creditors  of  his,  al- 
though they  were  of  the  number  of  those  from 
whom  his  purchases  had  been  made  for  the 
"whacking"  shipping  order,  and  although  their 
goods  were  found  in  the  "  Flitter."  Ephraim  is 
summoned,  and  testifies  to  all  the  particulars  of 
his  master's  return,  and  the  subsequent  packing, 
cart-loading,  and  embarkation  as  already  told  — 
accounting  for  the  extravagances  of  Mr.  Snook 
as  being  "  all  along  of  that  Miss  Bodkin  "  :  — 

"  *  Lor',  master,  hi 's  glad  to  see  you  agin,'  exclaimed 
Ephraim.  *  Who  'd  ha  thought  as  't  would  come  to 
this?' 

"  <  Come  to  what?  '  cried  Peter.  *  I  '11  make  'em  re- 
pent of  it,  every  man  Jack  of  em,  before  I  've  done,  if 
there  's  law  to  be  had  for  love  or  money ! ' 

"  '  Ah,  sir,'  said  Ephraim,  *  we  'd  better  have  stuck  to 
the  retail.  I  was  afraid  that  shipping  consarn  would  n't 
answer,  and  tell  'd  you  so,  if  you  recollect,  but  you 
would  n't  hearken  to  me.' 

"'What  shipping  concern?'  inquired  Peter,  with  a 
look  of  amazement. 

"  *  La !  master,'  exclaimed  Ephraim,  '  it  aint  of  any 
use  to  pretend  to  keep  it  a  secret  now,  when  everybody 
knows  it.  I  did  n't  tell  Mr.  Pester,  though,  till  the  last, 
141 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

when  all  the  goods  was  gone  out  of  the  shop,  and  the 
sheriff's  officers  had  come  to  take  possession  of  the 
house.' 

"  '  Sheriff's  officers  in  possession  of  my  house ! '  roared 
Peter.  '  All  the  goods  gone  out  of  the  shop !  What 
do  you  mean  by  that,  you  rascal?  What  have  you  been 
doing  in  my  absence?  '  And  he  sprang  forward  furi- 
ously, and  seized  the  trembling  shopman  by  the  collar 
with  a  degree  of  violence  which  rendered  it  difficult  for 
the  two  officers  in  attendance  to  disengage  him  from 
his  hold." 

Hereupon,  Mr.  Snap,  the  attorney  retained 
by  the  creditors,  harangues  the  company  at  some 
length,  and  intimates  that  Mr.  Snook  is  either 
mad  or  acting  the  madman  for  the  purpose  of 
evading  punishment.  A  practitioner  from  Bed- 
lam is  sent  for,  and  some  artifices  resorted  to  — 
but  to  no  purpose.  It  is  found  impossible  to  de- 
cide upon  the  question  of  sanity.  The  medical 
gentleman,  in  his  report  to  the  creditors,  con- 
fesses himself  utterly  perplexed,  and,  without 
giving  a  decision,  details  the  particulars  of  a 
singular  story  told  him  by  Mr.  Snook  himself, 
concerning  the  mode  of  his  escape  from  drown- 
ing after  he  fell  overboard  from  the  "Rose  in 
June."  "  It  is  a  strange,  unlikely  tale,  to  be 
sure,"  says  the  physician,  "  and  if  his  general  con- 
versation was  of  that  wild,  imaginative,  flighty 
kind  which  I  have  so  often  witnessed,  I  should 
say  it  was  purely  ideal;  but  he  appears  such  a 
plain-spoken,  simple  sort  of  a  person,  that  it  is 


"PETER  SNOOK" 

difficult  to  conceive  how  he  could  invent  such  a 
fiction."  Mr.  Snook's  narration  is  then  told, 
not  in  his  very  words,  but  in  the  author's  own 
way,  with  all  the  particulars  obtained  from 
Peter's  various  recitations.  We  give  it  only  in 
brief. 

Upon  tumbling  overboard,  Mr.  Snook  (at 
least  according  to  his  own  story)  swam  courage- 
ously as  long  as  he  could.  He  was  upon  the 
point  of  sinking,  however,  when  an  oar  was  thrust 
under  his  arm,  and  he  found  himself  lifted  in  a 
boat  by  a  "  dozen  dark-looking  men."  He  is 
taken  on  board  a  large  ship,  and  the  captain, 
who  is  a  droll  genius,  and  talks  in  rhyme  some- 
what after  the  fashion  of  the  wondrous  "  Tale  of 
Alroy,"  entertains  him  with  great  cordiality, 
dresses  him  in  a  suit  of  his  own  clothes,  makes 
him  drink  in  the  first  place  a  brimmer  of  "  some- 
thing hot,"  and  afterwards  plies  him  with  wines 
and  cordials  of  all  kinds,  at  a  supper  of  the  most 
magnificent  description.  Warmed  in  body  and 
mind  by  this  excellent  cheer,  Peter  reveals  his 
inmost  secrets  to  his  host,  and  talks  freely  and 
minutely  of  a  thousand  things:  of  his  man 
Ephraim  and  his  oddities ;  of  his  bank  account ;  of 
his  great  credit;  of  his  adventures  with  Miss  Bod- 
kin; of  his  prospects  in  trade;  and  especially  of 
the  names,  residences,  etc.,  etc.,  of  the  wholesale 
houses  with  whom  he  is  in  the  habit  of  dealing. 
Presently,  being  somewhat  overcome  with  wine, 
143 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

he  goes  to  bed  at  the  suggestion  of  the  captain, 
who  promises  to  call  him  in  season  for  a  boat 
in  the  morning,  which  will  convey  him  to  Bill- 
ingsgate in  full  time  for  Pester  and  Co.'s  note. 
How  long  he  slept  is  uncertain;  but  when  he 
awoke  a  great  change  was  observable  in  the  cap- 
tain's manner,  who  was  somewhat  brusque,  and 
handed  him  over  the  ship's  side  into  the  barge, 
where  he  was  discovered  by  the  creditors  in  pur- 
suit, and  which  he  was  assured  would  convey  him 
to  Billingsgate. 

This  relation,  thus  succinctly  given  by  us,  im- 
plies little  or  nothing.  The  result,  however,  to 
which  the  reader  is  ingeniously  led  by  the  au- 
thor, is,  that  the  real  Peter  Snook  has  been 
duped,  and  that  the  Peter  Snook  who  made  the 
various  purchases  about  town,  and  who  appeared 
to  Ephraim  only  during  the  morning  and  even- 
ing twilight  of  the  eventful  day,  was  in  fact  no 
other  person  than  the  captain  of  "the  strange, 
black-sided  ship."  We  are  to  believe  that,  tak- 
ing advantage  of  Peter's  communicativeness,  and 
a  certain  degree  of  personal  resemblance  to  him- 
self, he  assumed  our  hero's  clothes  while  he  slept, 
and  made  a  bold  and  nearly  successful  attempt 
at  wholesale  peculation. 

The  incidents  of  this  story  are  forcibly  con- 
ceived, and  even  in  the  hands  of  an  ordinary 
writer  would  scarcely  fail  of  effect.  But,  in  the 
present  instance,  so  unusual  a  tact  is  developed 
144 


"PETER  SNOOK" 

in  the  narration  that  we  are  inclined  to  rank 
"  Peter  Snook "  among  the  few  tales  which 
(each  in  its  own  way)  are  absolutely  faultless. 
It  is  a  Flemish  home-piece  of  the  highest  order, 
its  merits  lying  in  its  chiaroscuro  —  in  that  blend- 
ing of  light  and  shade  and  shadow,  where  noth- 
ing is  too  distinct,  yet  where  the  idea  is  fully 
conveyed  —  in  the  absence  of  all  rigid  outlines 
and  all  miniature  painting  —  in  the  not  undue 
warmth  of  the  coloring  —  and  in  a  well-subdued 
exaggeration  at  all  points,  an  exaggeration  never 
amounting  to  caricature. 


145 


WALSH'S   "DIDACTICS" 

HAVING  read  Mr.  Walsh's  "Didactics," 
with  much  attention  and  pleasure,  I  am 
prepared  to  admit  that  he  is  one  of  the  finest 
writers,  one  of  the  most  accomplished  scholars, 
and,  when  not  in  too  great  a  hurry,  one  of  the 
most  accurate  thinkers  in  the  country.  Yet  had 
I  never  seen  this  work  I  should  never  have  en- 
tertained these  opinions.  Mr.  Walsh  has  been 
peculiarly  an  anonymous  writer,  and  has  thus 
been  instrumental  in  cheating  himself  of  a  great 
portion  of  that  literary  renown  which  is  most 
unequivocally  his  due.  I  have  been  not  unfre- 
quently  astonished  in  the  perusal  of  this  book 
at  meeting  with  a  variety  of  well  known  and 
highly  esteemed  acquaintances,  for  whose  pa- 
ternity I  had  been  accustomed  to  give  credit 
where  I  now  find  it  should  not  have  been  given. 
Among  these  I  may  mention  in  especial  the  very 
excellent  essay  on  the  acting  of  Kean,  entitled 
"  Notices  of  Kean's  principal  performances  dur- 
ing his  first  season  in  Philadelphia,"  to  be  found 
at  page  146,  volume  i.  I  have  often  thought  of 
the  unknown  author  of  this  essay  as  of  one  to 
whom  I  might  speak,  if  occasion  should  at  any 
time  be  granted  me,  with  a  perfect  certainty  of 
146 


A.CTICS  » 

looked  to  the  article 
le  general  blankness 
ry  theatrical  notices. 

pleasure  with  which 
long-cherished  opin- 
inexpectedly  in  the 
absolute  is  the  neces- 

rescuing  our  stage 
>f  illiterate  mounte- 

hands  of  gentlemen 

Education  "  is  much 
to  that  essay  in  the 
irt,  in  which  the  at- 
tvn  colleges  as  semi- 
Walsh's  article  does 
plan  of  a  National 
s  assailed  by  the  At- 
lents  upon  some  er- 
iters  into  a  brief  but 
of  the  general  sub- 
ndeniable  truth,  that 
uments  against  uni- 
versities which  are  to  exist  at  the  present  day, 
from  the  inconveniences  found  to  be  connected 
with  institutions  formed  in  the  dark  ages  —  in- 
stitutions similar  to  our  own  in  but  few  respects, 
modelled  upon  the  principles  and  prejudices  of 
the  times,  organized  with  a  view  to  particular 
ecclesiastical   purposes,    and   confined   in   their 
147 


WALSH'S 

HAVING  read 
with  much  at1 
prepared  to  admit  i 
writers,  one  of  the  E 
and,  when  not  in  toe 
most  accurate  thinke] 
I  never  seen  this  wo: 
tertained  these  opini 
peculiarly  an  anonyi 
been  instrumental  in 
portion  of  that  liter 
unequivocally  his  du 
quently  astonished  ii 
at  meeting  with  a  \ 
highly  esteemed  acq 
ternity  I  had  been 
where  I  now  find  it  s 

Among  these  I  may  L^^V*^**  ***  ^a^^i***.  ^^  v^x^ 
excellent  essay  on  the  acting  of  Kean,  entitled 
"  Notices  of  Kean's  principal  performances  dur- 
ing his  first  season  in  Philadelphia,"  to  be  found 
at  page  146,  volume  i.  I  have  often  thought  of 
the  unknown  author  of  this  essay  as  of  one  to 
whom  I  might  speak,  if  occasion  should  at  any 
time  be  granted  me,  with  a  perfect  certainty  of 


WALSH'S  «  DIDACTICS  » 

being  understood.  I  have  looked  to  the  article 
itself  as  to  a  fair  oasis  in  the  general  blankness 
and  futility  of  our  customary  theatrical  notices. 
I  read  it  with  that  thrill  of  pleasure  with  which 
I  always  welcome  my  own  long-cherished  opin- 
ions, when  I  meet  them  unexpectedly  in  the 
language  of  another.  How  absolute  is  the  neces- 
sity, now  daily  growing,  of  rescuing  our  stage 
criticism  from  the  control  of  illiterate  mounte- 
banks, and  placing  it  in  the  hands  of  gentlemen 
and  scholars! 

The  paper  on  "  Collegiate  Education  "  is  much 
more  than  a  sufficient  reply  to  that  essay  in  the 
"  Old  Bachelor  "  of  Mr.  Wirt,  in  which  the  at- 
tempt is  made  to  argue  down  colleges  as  semi- 
naries for  the  young.  Mr.  Walsh's  article  does 
not  uphold  Mr.  Barlow's  plan  of  a  National 
University  —  a  plan  which  is  assailed  by  the  At- 
torney-General—  but  comments  upon  some  er- 
rors in  point  of  fact,  and  enters  into  a  brief  but 
comprehensive  examination  of  the  general  sub- 
ject. He  maintains,  with  undeniable  truth,  that 
it  is  illogical  to  deduce  arguments  against  uni- 
versities which  are  to  exist  at  the  present  day, 
from  the  inconveniences  found  to  be  connected 
with  institutions  formed  in  the  dark  ages  —  in- 
stitutions similar  to  our  own  in  but  few  respects, 
modelled  upon  the  principles  and  prejudices  of 
the  times,  organized  with  a  view  to  particular 
ecclesiastical  purposes,  and  confined  in  their 
147 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

operations  by  an  infinity  of  Gothic  and  perplex- 
ing regulations.  He  thinks  (and  I  believe  he 
thinks  with  a  great  majority  of  our  well-edu- 
cated fellow-citizens)  that  in  the  case  either  of 
a  great  National  Institute  or  of  State  Univer- 
sities, nearly  all  the  difficulties  so  much  insisted 
upon  will  prove  a  series  of  mere  chimeras  —  that 
the  evils  apprehended  might  be  readily  obviated, 
and  the  acknowledged  benefits  uninterruptedly 
secured.  He  denies,  very  justly,  the  assertion  of 
the  "Old  Bachelor" — that,  in  the  progress  of 
society,  funds  for  collegiate  establishments  will 
no  doubt  be  accumulated,  independently  of  gov- 
ernment, when  their  benefits  are  evident,  and  a 
necessity  for  them  felt  —  and  that  the  rich  who 
have  funds  will,  whenever  strongly  impressed 
with  the  necessity  of  so  doing,  provide,  either  by 
associations  or  otherwise,  proper  seminaries  for 
the  education  of  their  children.  He  shows  that 
these  assertions  are  contradictory  to  experience, 
and  more  particularly  to  the  experience  of  the 
State  of  Virginia,  where,  notwithstanding  the 
extent  of  private  opulence,  and  the  disadvantages 
under  which  the  community  so  long  labored  from 
a  want  of  regular  and  systematic  instruction,  it 
•was  the  government  which  was  finally  compelled, 
and  not  private  societies  which  were  induced,  to 
provide  establishments  for  effecting  the  great 
end.  He  says  (and  therein  we  must  all  fully 
agree  with  him)  that  Virginia  may  consider  her- 
148 


WALSH'S  "DIDACTICS" 

self  fortunate  in  following  the  example  of  all  the 
enlightened  nations  of  modern  times  rather  than 
in  hearkening  to  the  counsels  of  the  "  Old  Bache- 
lor." He  dissents  (and  who  would  not?)  from 
the  allegation  that  "the  most  eminent  men  in 
Europe,  particularly  in  England,  have  received 
their  education  at  neither  public  schools  nor  uni- 
versities," and  shows  that  the  very  reverse  may 
be  affirmed;  that  on  the  continent  of  Europe  by 
far  the  greater  number  of  its  great  names  have 
been  attached  to  the  rolls  of  its  universities,  and 
that  in  England  a  vast  majority  of  those  minds 
which  we  have  reverenced  so  long  —  the  Bacons, 
the  Newtons,  the  Barrows,  the  Clarkes,  the 
Spensers,  the  Miltons,  the  Drydens,  the  Addi- 
sons,  the  Temples,  the  Hales,  the  Clarendons, 
the  Mansfields,  Chatham,  Pitt,  Fox,  Wyndham, 
etc.  —  were  educated  among  the  venerable  clois- 
ters of  Oxford  or  of  Cambridge.  He  cites  the 
"  Oxford  Prize  Essays,"  so  well  known  even  in 
America,  as  direct  evidence  of  the  energetic  ardor 
in  acquiring  knowledge  brought  about  through 
the  means  of  British  Universities,  and  maintains 
that  "  when  attention  is  given  to  the  subsequent 
public  stations  and  labors  of  most  of  the  writers 
of  these  '  Essays,'  it  will  be  found  that  they  prove 
also  the  ultimate  practical  utility  of  the  literary 
discipline  of  the  colleges  for  the  students  and 
the  nation."  He  argues,  that  were  it  even  true 
that  the  greatest  men  have  not  been  educated 
149 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

in  public  schools,  the  fact  would  have  little  to  do 
with  the  question  of  their  efficacy  in  the  instruc- 
tion of  the  mass  of  mankind.  Great  men  can- 
not be  created  —  and  are  usually  independent  of 
all  particular  schemes  of  education.  Public  semi- 
naries are  best  adapted  to  the  generality  of  cases. 
He  concludes  with  observing  that  the  course  of 
study  pursued  at  English  universities  is  more 
liberal  by  far  than  we  are  willing  to  suppose  it  — 
that  it  is,  demonstrably,  the  best,  inasmuch  as  re- 
gards the  preference  given  to  classical  and  mathe- 
matical knowledge  —  and  that  upon  the  whole 
it  would  be  an  easy  matter,  in  transferring  to 
America  the  general  principles  of  those  institu- 
tions, to  leave  them  their  obvious  errors,  while 
we  avail  ourselves,  as  we  best  may,  of  their  still 
more  obvious  virtues  and  advantages. 

The  only  paper  in  the  "  Didactics,"  to  which 
I  have  any  decided  objection,  is  a  tolerably  long 
article  on  the  subject  of  phrenology,  entitled 

"  Memorial  of  the  Phrenological  Society  of 

to  the  Honorable  the  Congress  of sitting  at 

• ."  Considered  as  a  specimen  of  mere  bur- 
lesque, the  "Memorial"  is  well  enough  —  but 
I  am  sorry  to  see  the  energies  of  a  scholar  and  an 
editor  (who  should  be,  if  he  be  not,  a  man  of 
metaphysical  science)  so  wickedly  employed  as 
in  any  attempt  to  throw  ridicule  upon  a  ques- 
tion (however  much  maligned,  or  however  ap- 
parently ridiculous),  whose  merits  he  has  never 
150 


WALSH'S  "DIDACTICS" 

examined,  and  of  whose  very  nature,  history, 
and  assumptions,  he  is  most  evidently  ignorant. 
Mr.  Walsh  is  either  ashamed  of  this  article  now, 
or  he  will  have  plentiful  reason  to  be  ashamed 
of  it  hereafter. 


151 


MACAULAY'S   "ESSAYS" 

MACAULAY  has  obtained  a  reputation 
which,  although  deservedly  great,  is  yet 
in  a  remarkable  measure  undeserved.  The  few 
who  regard  him  merely  as  a  terse,  forcible,  and 
logical  writer,  full  of  thought,  and  abounding 
in  original  views,  often  sagacious  and  never  other- 
wise than  admirably  expressed,  appear  to  us 
precisely  in  the  right.  The  many  who  look  upon 
him  as  not  only  all  this,  but  as  a  comprehensive 
and  profound  thinker,  little  prone  to  error,  err 
essentially  themselves.  The  source  of  the  gen- 
eral mistake  lies  in  a  very  singular  consideration, 
yet  in  one  upon  which  we  do  not  remember  ever 
to  have  heard  a  word  of  comment.  We  allude 
to  a  tendency  in  the  public  mind  towards  logic 
for  logic's  sake,  a  liability  to  confound  the  vehi- 
cle with  the  conveyed,  an  aptitude  to  be  so  daz- 
zled by  the  luminousness  with  which  an  idea  is 
set  forth  as  to  mistake  it  for  the  luminousness  of 
the  idea  itself.  The  error  is  one  exactly  anal- 
ogous with  that  which  leads  the  immature  poet 
to  think  himself  sublime  wherever  he  is  obscure, 
because  obscurity  is  a  source  of  the  sublime  — 
thus  confounding  obscurity  of  expression  with 
the  expression  of  obscurity.  In  the  case  of  Ma- 
152 


MACAULAY'S  "  ESSAYS  » 

caulay  —  and  we  may  say,  en  passant,  of  our  own 
Charming  —  we  assent  to  what  he  says  too  often 
because  we  so  very  clearly  understand  what  it  is 
that  he  intends  to  say.  Comprehending  vividly 
the  points  and  the  sequence  of  his  argument,  we 
fancy  that  we  are  concurring  in  the  argument 
itself.  It  is  not  every  mind  which  is  at  once  able 
to  analyze  the  satisfaction  it  receives  from  such 
essays  as  we  see  here.  If  it  were  merely  beauty  of 
style  for  which  they  were  distinguished,  if  they 
were  remarkable  only  for  rhetorical  flourishes, 
we  would  not  be  apt  to  estimate  these  flourishes 
at  more  than  their  due  value.  We  would  not 
agree  with  the  doctrines  of  the  essayist  on  ac- 
count of  the  elegance  with  which  they  were 
urged.  On  the  contrary,  we  would  be  inclined 
to  disbelief.  But  when  all  ornament  save  that  of 
simplicity  is  disclaimed  —  when  we  are  attacked 
by  precision  of  language,  by  perfect  accuracy 
of  expression,  by  directness  and  singleness  of 
thought,  and  above  all  by  a  logic  the  most  rigor- 
ously close  and  consequential  —  it  is  hardly  a 
matter  for  wonder  that  nine  of  us  out  of  ten  are 
content  to  rest  in  the  gratification  thus  received 
as  in  the  gratification  of  absolute  truth. 

Of  the  terseness  and  simple  vigor  of  Macau- 
lay's  style  it  is  unnecessary  to  point  out  instances. 
Every  one  will  acknowledge  his  merits  on  this 
score.  His  exceeding  closeness  of  logic,  how- 
ever, is  more  especially  remarkable.  With  this 
153 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

he  suffers  nothing  to  interfere.  Here,  for  ex- 
ample, is  a  sentence  in  which,  to  preserve  en- 
tire the  chain  of  his  argument  —  to  leave  no 
minute  gap  which  the  reader  might  have  to 
fill  up  with  thought  —  he  runs  into  most  unusual 
tautology. 

"  The  books  and  traditions  of  a  sect  may  contain, 
mingled  with  propositions  strictly  theological,  other 
propositions,  purporting  to  rest  on  the  same  authority, 
which  relate  to  physics.  If  new  discoveries  should  throw 
discredit  on  the  physical  propositions,  the  theological 
propositions,  unless  they  can  be  separated  from  the 
physical  propositions,  will  share  in  their  discredit." 

These  things  are  very  well  in  their  way;  but 
it  is  indeed  questionable  whether  they  do  not  ap- 
pertain rather  to  the  trickery  of  thought's  vehicle 
than  to  thought  itself,  rather  to  reason's  shadow 
than  to  reason.  Truth,  for  truth's  sake,  is  sel- 
dom so  enforced.  It  is  scarcely  too  much  to  say 
that  the  style  of  the  profound  thinker  is  never 
closely  logical.  Here  we  might  instance  George 
Combe,  than  whom  a  more  candid  reasoner  never, 
perhaps,  wrote  or  spoke,  than  whom  a  more  com- 
plete antipodes  to  Babington  Macaulay  there 
certainly  never  existed.  The  former  reasons  to 
discover  the  true.  The  latter  argues  to  convince 
the  world,  and,  in  arguing,  not  unfrequently 
surprises  himself  into  conviction.  What  Combe 
appears  to  Macaulay  it  would  be  a  difficult  thing 
to  say.  What  Macaulay  is  thought  of  by  Combe 
154 


MACAULAY'S  "  ESSAYS  " 

we  can  understand  very  well.  The  man  who 
looks  at  an  argument  in  its  details  alone,  will 
not  fail  to  be  misled  by  the  one;  while  he  who 
keeps  steadily  in  view  the  generality  of  a  thesis 
will  always  at  least  approximate  the  truth  under 
guidance  of  the  other. 

Macaulay's  tendency  —  and  the  tendency  of 
mere  logic  in  general  —  to  concentrate  force  upon 
minutiae,  at  the  expense  of  a  subject  as  a  whole, 
is  well  instanced  in  an  article  (in  the  volume  now 
before  us)  on  "  Ranke's  History  of  the  Popes." 
This  article  is  called  a  review  —  possibly  because 
it  is  anything  else  —  as  Incus  is  lucus  a  non  lu- 
cendo.  In  fact,  it  is  nothing  more  than  a  beau- 
tifully written  treatise  on  the  main  theme  of 
Ranke  himself;  the  whole  matter  of  the  treatise 
being  deduced  from  the  "  History."  In  the  way 
of  criticism  there  is  nothing  worth  the  name. 
The  strength  of  the  essayist  is  put  forth  to  ac- 
count for  the  progress  of  Romanism  by  main- 
taining that  divinity  is  not  a  progressive  science. 
The  enigmas,  says  he  in  substance,  which  per- 
plex the  natural  theologian  are  the  same  in  all 
ages,  while  the  Bible,  where  alone  we  are  to  seek 
revealed  truth,  has  always  been  what  it  is. 

The  manner  in  which  these  two  propositions 
are  set  forth,  is  a  model  for  the  logician  and  for 
the  student  of  belles-lettres,  yet  the  error  into 
which  the  essayist  has  rushed  headlong  is  egre- 
gious. He  attempts  to  deceive  his  readers,  or  has 
155 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

deceived  himself,  by  confounding  the  nature  of 
that  proof  from  which  we  reason  of  the  con- 
cerns of  earth,  considered  as  man's  habitation, 
and  the  nature  of  that  evidence  from  which  we 
reason  of  the  same  earth  regarded  as  a  unit  of 
that  vast  whole,  the  universe.  In  the  former 
case  the  data  being  palpable,  the  proof  is  direct: 
in  the  latter  it  is  purely  analogical.  Were  the 
indications  we  derive  from  science,  of  the  nature 
and  designs  of  Deity,  and  thence,  by  inference, 
of  man's  destiny  —  were  these  indications  proof 
direct,  no  advance  in  science  would  strengthen 
them,  for,  as  our  author  truly  observes,  "  noth- 
ing could  be  added  to  the  force  of  the  argument 
which  the  mind  finds  in  every  beast,  bird,  or 
flower; "  but  as  these  indications  are  rigidly  an- 
alogical, every  step  in  human  knowledge  —  every 
astronomical  discovery,  for  instance  —  throws 
additional  light  upon  the  august  subject,  by  ex- 
tending the  range  of  analogy.  That  we  know 
no  more  to-day  of  the  nature  of  Deity,  of  its 
purposes  —  and  thus  of  man  himself  —  than  we 
did  even  a  dozen  years  ago,  is  a  proposition  dis- 
gracefully absurd;  and  of  this  any  astronomer 
could  assure  Mr.  Macaulay.  Indeed,  to  our  own 
mind,  the  only  irrefutable  argument  in  support 
of  the  soul's  immortality  —  or,  rather,  the  only 
conclusive  proof  of  man's  alternate  dissolution 
and  rejuvenescence  ad  infinitum  —  is  to  be  found 
in  analogies  deduced  from  the  modern  estab- 
156 


MACAULAY'S  "  ESSAYS  " 

lished  theory  of  the  nebular  cosmogony.1  Mr. 
Macaulay,  in  short,  has  forgotten  what  he  fre- 
quently forgets,  or  neglects,  —  the  very  gist  of 
his  subject.  He  has  forgotten  that  analogical 
evidence  cannot,  at  all  times,  be  discoursed  of  as 
if  identical  with  proof  direct.  Throughout  the 
whole  of  his  treatise  he  has  made  no  distinction 
whatever. 

1  This  cosmogony  demonstrates  that  all  existing  bodies  in 
the  universe  are  formed  of  a  nebular  matter,  a  rare  ethereal 
medium,  pervading  space  —  shows  the  mode  and  laws  of 
formation  —  and  proves  that  all  things  are  in  a  perpetual 
state  of  progress  —  that  nothing  in  nature  is  perfected. 


157 


EDWIN  PERCY  WHIPPLE  AND 
OTHER  CRITICS 

OUR  most  analytic,  if  not  altogether  our  best 
critic.  (Mr.  Whipple,  perhaps,  excepted) 
is  Mr.  William  A.  Jones,  author  of  "  The  An- 
alyst." How  he  would  write  elaborate  criticisms 
I  cannot  say;  but  his  summary  judgments  of  au- 
thors are,  in  general,  discriminative  and  pro- 
found. In  fact,  his  papers  on  Emerson  and  on 
Macaulay,  published  in  "Arcturus,"  are  better 
than  merely  "  profound,"  if  we  take  the  word  in 
its  now  desecrated  sense;  for  they  are  at  once 
pointed,  lucid,  and  just;  as  summaries,  leaving 
nothing  to  be  desired. 

Mr.  Whipple  has  less  analysis,  and  far  less 
candor,  as  his  depreciation  of  "  Jane  Eyre " 
will  show;  but  he  excels  Mr.  Jones  in  sensibility 
to  beauty,  and  is  thus  the  better  critic  of  poetry. 
I  have  read  nothing  finer  in  its  way  than  his 
eulogy  on  Tennyson.  I  say  "  eulogy  "  —  for  tlie 
essay  in  question  is  unhappily  little  more*  and 
Mr.  Whipple's  paper  on  Miss  Barrett  was  noth- 
ing more.  He  has  less  discrimination  than  Mr. 
Jones,  and  a  more  obtuse  sense  of  the  critical 
office.  In  fact,  he  has  been  infected  with  that  un- 
158 


E.  P.  WHIPPLE  AND  OTHER  CRITICS 

meaning  and  transparent  heresy  —  the  cant  of 
critical  Boswellism,  by  dint  of  which  we  are  to 
shut  our  eyes  tightly  to  all  authorial  blemishes, 
and  open  them,  like  owls,  to  all  authorial  merits. 
Papers  thus  composed  may  be  good  in  their  way, 
just  as  an  impertinent  cicerone  is  good  in  his 
way;  and  the  way,  in  either  case,  may  still  be  a 
small  one. 

Boccalini,  in  his  "  Advertisements  from  Par- 
nassus," tells  us  that  Zoilus  once  presented 
Apollo  with  a  very  caustic  review  of  a  very 
admirable  poem.  The  god  asked  to  be  shown  the 
beauties  of  the  work;  but  the  critic  replied 
that  he  troubled  himself  only  about  the  errors. 
Hereupon  Apollo  gave  him  a  sack  of  unwin- 
nowed  wheat  —  bidding  him  pick  out  all  the  chaff 
for  his  pains. 

Now  this  fable  does  very  well  as  a  hit  at  the 
critics;  but  I  am  by  no  means  sure  that  the 
deity  was  in  the  right.  The  fact  is,  that  the 
limits  of  the  strict^  critical  duty  are  grossly  mis- 
apprehended. We  may  go  so  far  as  to  say  that, 
while  the  critic  is  permitted  to  play,  at  times,  the 
part  of  the  mere  commentator  —  while  he  is 
allowed,  by  way  of  merely  interesting  his  readers, 
to  put  in  the  fairest  light  the  merits  of  his  author 
—  his  legitimate  task  is  still,  in  pointing  out  and 
analyzing  defectsiand  showing  how  the  work 
might  have  been  improved,  to  aid  the  genera' 
cause  of  Letters,  without  undue  heed  of  the 
159 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 


literary  men.     Beauty,  to  be  brief, 
should  be  considered  in  the  light  of  an  axiom, 
which,  to  become  at  once  evident,  needs  only  to 
[Lj-be  distinctly  put.    T*  iViffiBegotfr  if  itjrequire 
SO^r^fo  be  demonstrated  as  such:  —  ^nd_thus  to  point 

a^jf  out  too  particularly  the  merits  of  a  work,  isj:o 

admit  that  they  are  not  merits  altogether. 

When  I  say  that  both  Mr.  Jones  and  Mr. 
Whipple    are,    in    some   degree,    imitators    of 

**yA*5  1  v  Macaulay,  I  have  no  design  that  my  words  should 
be  understood  as  disparagement.  The  style  and 
general  conduct  of  Macaulay's  critical  papers 
could  scarcely  be  improved.  To  call  his  man- 
ner "conventional,"  is  to  do  it  gross  injustice. 
The  manner  of  Carlyle  is  conventional  —  with 
himself.  The  style  of  Emerson  is  conventional 
—  with  himself  and  Carlyle.  The  style  of  Miss 
Fuller  is  conventional  —  with  herself  and  Emer- 
son and  Carlyle,  —  that  is  to  say,  it  is  a  triple- 
distilled  conventionality;  and  by  the  word  "  con- 
ventionality," as  here  used,  I  mean  very  nearly 
what,  as  regards  personal  conduct,  we  style 
"affectation"  —  that  is,  an  assumption  of  airs 
or  tricks  which  have  no  basis  in  reason  or  com- 
mon-sense. The  quips,  quirks,  and  curt  orac- 
ularities  of  the  Emersons,  Alcotts,  and  Fullers, 
are  simply  Lyly's  Euphuisms  revived.  Very 
different,  indeed,  are  the  peculiarities  of  Macau- 
lay.  He  has  his  mannerisms;  but  we  see  that, 
by  dint  of  them,  he  is  enabled  to  accomplish  the 
160 


E.  P.  WHIFFLE  AND  OTHER  CRITICS 

extremes  of  unquestionable  excellences  —  the 
extreme  of  clearness,  of  vigor  (dependent  upon 
clearness),  of  grace,  and  very  especially  of 
thoroughness.  For  his  short  sentences,  for  his 
antitheses,  for  his  modulations,  for  his  climaxes 
—  for  everything  that  he  does  —  a  very  slight 
analysis  suffices  to  show  a  distinct  reason.  His 
manner,  thus,  is  simply  the  perfection  of  that 
justifiable  rhetoric  which  has  its  basis  in  com- 
mon-sense; and  to  say  that  such  rhetoric  is  never 
called  in  to  the  aid  of  genius,  is  simply  to  dis- 
parage genius,  and  by  no  means  to  discredit  the 
rhetoric.  It  is  nonsense  to  assert  that  the  high- 
est genius  would  not  be  benefited  by  attention 
to  its  modes  of  manifestation  —  by  availing  it- 
self of  that  Natural  Art  which  it  too  frequently 
despises.  Is  it  not  evident  that  the  more  in- 
trinsically valuable  the  rough  diamond,  the 
more  gain  accrues  to  it  from  polish? 

Now,  since  it  would  be  nearly  impossible  to 
vary  the  rhetoric  of  Macaulay,  in  any  material 
degree,  without  deterioration  in  the  essential 
particulars  of  clearness,  vigor,  etc.,  those  who 
write  after  Macaulay  have  to  choose  between  the 
two  horns  of  a  dilemma  —  they  must  be  weak 
and  original,  or  imitative  and  strong;  and  since 
imitation,  in  a  case  of  this  kind,  is  merely  adher- 
ence to  Truth  and  Reason  as  pointed  out  by  one 
who  feels  their  value,  the  author  who  should 
forego  the  advantages  of  the  "  imitation  "  for  the 
161 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

mere  sake  of  being  erroneously  original  "  rfest 
pas  si  sage  qu'il  croit" 

*  The  true  course  to  be  pursued  by  our  critics, 
justly  sensible  of  Macaulay's  excellences,  is  not, 
however,  to  be  content  with  tamely  following 
in  his  footsteps,  but  to  outstrip  him  in  his  own 
path  —  a  path  not  so  much  his  as  Nature's.  We 
must  not  fall  into  the  error  of  fancying  that  he 
is  perfect,  merely  because  he  excels  (in  point  of 
style)  all  his  British  cotemporaries.  Some  such 
idea  as  this  seems  to  have  taken  possession  of 
Mr.  Jones,  when  he  says:  — 

"  Macaulay's  style  is  admirable  —  full  of  color,  per- 
fectly clear,  free  from  all  obstructions,  exactly  English, 
and  as  pointedly  antithetical  as  possible.  We  have 
marked  two  passages  on  Southey  and  Byron,  so  happy 
as  to  defy  improvement.  The  one  is  a  sharp  epigram- 
matic paragraph  on  Southey's  political  bias :  — 

"  '  Government  is  to  Mr.  Southey  one  of  the  fine  arts. 
He  judges  of  a  theory  or  a  public  measure,  of  a  religion, 
a  political  party,  a  peace  or  a  war,  as  men  judge  of  a 
picture  or  a  statue,  by  the  effect  produced  on  his  imagi- 
nation. A  chain  of  associations  is  to  him  what  a  chain 
of  reasoning  is  to  other  men;  and  what  he  calls  his 
opinions  are,  in  fact,  merely  his  tastes.' 

"  The  other,  a  balanced  character  of  Lord  Byron :  — 

" '  In  the  rank  of  Lord  Byron,  in  his  understanding, 
in  his  character,  in  his  very  person,  there  was  a  strange 
union  of  opposite  extremes.  He  was  born  to  all  that 
men  covet  and  admire.  But  in  every  one  of  those  emi- 
nent advantages  which  he  possessed  over  others,  there 
was  mingled  something  of  misery  and  debasement.  He 
was  sprung  from  a  house,  ancient,  indeed,  and  noble, 
162 


E.  P.  WHIPPLE  AND  OTHER  CRITICS 

but  degraded  and  impoverished  by  a  series  of  crimes 
and  follies,  which  had  attained  a  scandalous  publicity. 
The  kinsman  whom  he  succeeded  had  died  poor,  and, 
but  for  merciful  judges,  would  have  died  upon  the  gal- 
lows. The  young  peer  had  great  intellectual  powers; 
yet  there  was  an  unsound  part  in  his  mind.  He  had 
naturally  a  generous  and  feeling  heart ;  but  his  temper 
was  wayward  and  irritable.  He  had  a  head  which 
statuaries  loved  to  copy,  and  a  foot  the  deformity  of 
which  the  beggars  in  the  street  mimicked.'  " 

Let  us  now  look  at  the  first  of  these  para- 
graphs. The  opening  sentence  is  inaccurate  at 
all  points.  The  word  "government"  does  not 
give  the  author's  idea  with  sufficient  definitive- 
ness;  for  the  term  is  more  frequently  applied 
to  the  system  by  which  the  affairs  of  a  nation  are 
regulated  than  to  the  act  of  regulating.  "  The 
government,"  we  say,  for  example,  "  does  so  and 
so  "  —  meaning  those  who  govern.  But  Macau- 
lay  intends  simply  the  act  or  acts  called  "gov- 
erning," and  this  word  should  have  been  used,  as 
a  matter  of  course.  The  "  Mr."  prefixed  to 
"  Southey,"  is  superfluous ;  for  no  sneer  is  de- 
signed; and,  in  mistering  a  well-known  author, 
we  hint  that  he  is  not  entitled  to  that  exemption 
which  we  accord  to  Homer,  Dante,  or  Shaks- 
peare.  "  To  Mr.  Southey "  would  have  been 
right,  had  the  succeeding  words  been  "  govern- 
ment seems  one  of  the  fine  arts : "  —  but,  as  the 
sentence  stands,  "  With  Mr.  Southey "  is  de- 
manded. "  Southey,"  too,  being  the  principal 
163 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

subject  of  the  paragraph,  should  precede  "  gov- 
ernment," which  is  mentioned  only  in  its  relation 
to  Southey.  "  One  of  the  fine  arts  "  is  pleonastic, 
since  the  phrase  conveys  nothing  more  than  "  a 
fine  art "  would  convey. 

The  second  sentence  is  quite  as  faulty.  Here 
Southey  loses  his  precedence  as  the  subject;  and 
thus  the  "He"  should  foUow  "a  theory,"  "a 
public  measure,"  etc.  By  "  religion  "  is  meant  a 
creed:  —  this  latter  word  should  therefore  be 
used.  The  conclusion  of  the  sentence  is  very 
awkward.  Southey  is  said  to  judge  of  a  peace 
or  war,  etc.,  "as  men  judge  of  a  picture  or  a 
statue,"  and  the  words  which  succeed  are  in- 
tended to  explain  "how  men  judge  of  a  picture 
or  a  statue.  These  words  should,  therefore,  run 
thus:  "  by  the  effect  produced  on  their  imagina- 
tions." "Produced,"  moreover,  is  neither  so 
exact  nor  so  "  English  "  as  "  wrought."  In  say- 
ing that  Southey  judges  of  a  political  party, 
etc.,  "  as  men  judge  of  a  picture,"  etc.,  Southey 
is  quite  excluded  from  the  category  of  "  men." 
"  Other  men  "  was  no  doubt  originally  written, 
but  "other"  erased,  on  account  of  the  "other 
men  "  occurring  in  the  sentence  below. 

Coming  to  this  last,  we  find  that  "a  chain 
of  associations"  is  not  properly  paralleled  by 
"a  chain  of  reasonmgr."  We  must  say  either 
"a  chain  of  association"  to  meet  the  "reason- 
ing"  or  "  a  chain  of  reasons  "  to  meet  the  "  asso- 
164 


E.  P.  WHIFFLE  AND  OTHER  CRITICS 

ciations."  The  repetition  of  "what"  is  awk- 
ward and  unpleasant.  The  entire  paragraph 
should  be  thus  remodelled:  — 

With  Southey,  governing  is  a  fine  art.  Of  a  theory 
or  a  public  measure  —  of  a  creed,  a  political  party,  a 
peace  or  a  war  —  he  judges  by  the  imaginative  effect; 
as  only  such  things  as  pictures  or  statues  are  judged  of 
by  other  men.  What  to  them  a  chain  of  reasoning  is, 
to  him  is  a  chain  of  association ;  and,  as  to  his  opinions, 
they  are  nothing  but  his  tastes. 

The  blemishes  in  the  paragraph  about  Byron 
are  more  negative  than  those  in  the  paragraph 
about  Southey.  The  first  sentence  needs  vivac- 
ity. The  adjective  "opposite"  is  superfluous: 
—  so  is  the  particle  "  there."  The  second  and 
third  sentences  are,  properly,  one.  "  Some " 
would  fully  supply  the  place  of  "  something  of." 
The  whole  phrase  "which  he  possessed  over 
others,"  is  supererogatory.  "Was  sprung,"  in 
place  of  "  sprang,"  is  altogether  unjustifiable. 
The  triple  repetition  of  "  and,"  in  the  fourth 
sentence,  is  awkward.  "Notorious  crimes  and 
follies,"  would  express  all  that  is  implied  in 
x"  crimes  and  follies  which  had  attained  a  scan- 
dalous publicity."  The  fifth  sentence  might  be 
well  curtailed;  and  as  it  stands,  has  an  uninten- 
tional and  unpleasant  sneer.  "  Intellect "  would 
do  as  well  as  "intellectual  powers;"  and  this 
(the  sixth)  sentence  might  otherwise  be  shortened 
165 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

advantageously.     The  whole  paragraph,  in  my 
opinion,  would  be  better  thus  expressed: 

In  Lord  Byron's  rank,  understanding,  character  — 
even  in  his  person  —  we  find  a  strange  union  of  ex- 
tremes. Whatever  men  covet  and  admire,  became  his 
by  right  of  birth;  yet  debasement  and  misery  were 
mingled  with  each  of  his  eminent  advantages.  He 
sprang  from  a  house,  ancient  it  is  true,  and  noble,  but 
degraded  and  impoverished  by  a  series  of  notorious 
crimes.  But  for  merciful  judges,  the  pauper  kinsman 
whom  he  succeeded  would  have  been  hanged.  The  young 
peer  had  an  intellect  great,  perhaps,  yet  partially  un- 
sound. His  heart  was  generous,  but  his  temper  way- 
ward; and  while  statuaries  copied  his  head,  beggars 
mimicked  the  deformity  of  his  foot. 

In  these  remarks,  my  object  is  not  so  much  to 
point  out  inaccuracies  in  the  most  accurate  stylist 
of  his  age,  as  to  hint  that  our  critics  might  sur- 
pass him  on  his  own  ground,  and  yet  leave  them- 
selves something  to  learn  in  the  moralities  of 
manner. 


166 


HEADLEY'S   "THE   SACRED   MOUN- 
TAINS" 

THE  Reverend  Mr.  Headley  (why  will  he 
not  put  his  full  title  in  his  titlepages?)  has 
in  his  "  Sacred  Mountains  "  been  reversing  the 
facts  of  the  old  fable  about  the  mountains  that 
brought  forth  the  mouse  —  parturiunt  monies: 
nascitur  ridiculus  mus —  for  in  this  instance  it 
appears  to  be  the  mouse  —  the  little  ridiculus 
mus  —  that  has  been  bringing  forth  the  "  Moun- 
tains," and  a  great  litter  of  them,  too.  The 
epithet,  "funny,"  however,  is  perhaps  the  only 
one  which  can  be  considered  as  thoroughly 
applicable  to  the  book.  We  say  that  a  book  is 
a  "  funny "  book,  and  nothing  else,  when  it 
spreads  over  two  hundred  pages  an  amount  of 
matter  which  could  be  conveniently  presented 
in  twenty  of  a  magazine;  that  a  book  is  a 
"  funny  "  book  —  "  only  this  and  nothing  more  " 
— when  it  is  written  in  that  kind  of  phraseology, 
in  which  John  Philpot  Curran,  when  drunk, 
would  have  made  a  speech  at  a  public  dinner;  and, 
moreover,  we  do  say,  emphatically,  that  a  book 
is  a  "  funny  "  book,  and  nothing  but  a  "  funny  " 
book,  whenever  it  happens  to  be  penned  by 
Mr.  Headley. 

167 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

We  should  like  to  give  some  account  of  "  The 
Sacred  Mountains,"  if  the  thing  were  only  possi- 
ble, but  we  cannot  conceive  that  it  is.  Mr.  Head- 
ley  belongs  to  that  numerous  class  of  authors 
who  must  be  read  to  be  understood,  and  who, 
for  that  reason,  very  seldom  are  as  thoroughly 
comprehended  as  they  should  be.  Let  us  en- 
deavor, however,  to  give  some  general  idea  of 
the  work.  "The  design,"  says  the  author,  in 
his  preface,  "  is  to  render  more  familiar  and  life- 
like some  of  the  scenes  of  the  Bible."  Here,  in 
the  very  first  sentence  of  his  preface,  we  suspect 
the  Reverend  Mr.  Headley  of  fibbing:  for  his 
design,  as  it  appears  to  ordinary  apprehension, 
is  merely  that  of  making  a  little  money  by  sell- 
ing a  little  book. 

The  mountains  described  are  Ararat,  Moriah, 
Sinai,  Hor,  Pisgah,  Horeb,  Carmel,  Lebanon, 
Zion,  Tabor,  Olivet,  and  Calvary.  Taking  up 
these,  one  by  one,  the  author  proceeds,  in  his 
own  very  peculiar  way,  to  elocutionize  about 
them :  we  really  do  not  know  how  else  to  express 
what  it  is  that  Mr.  Headley  does  with  these 
eminences.  Perhaps  if  we  were  to  say  that  he 
stood  up  before  the  reader  and  "  made  a  speech  " 
about  them,  one  after  the  other,  we  should  come 
still  nearer  the  truth.  By  way  of  carrying  out 
his  design,  as  announced  in  the  preface  —  that 
of  rendering  "more  familiar  and  life-like  some 
of  the  scenes"  and  so  forth  —  he  tells  not  only 
168 


HEADLEY'S  "THE   SACRED  MOUNTAINS" 

how  each  mountain  is,  and  was,  but  how  it  might 
have  been  and  ought  to  be,  in  his  own  opinion. 
To  hear  him  talk,  anybody  would  suppose  that 
he  had  been  at  the  laying  of  the  corner-stone 
of  Solomon's  Temple  —  to  say  nothing  of  being 
born  and  brought  up  in  the  ark  with  Noah,  and 
hail-fellow-well-met  with  every  one  of  the  beasts 
that  went  into  it.  If  any  person  really  desires 
to  know  how  and  why  it  was  that  the  deluge 
took  place  —  but  especially  how  —  if  any  person 
wishes  to  get  minute  and  accurate  information 
on  the  topic,  let  him  read  "  The  Sacred  Moun- 
tains," let  him  only  listen  to  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Headley.  He  explains  to  us  precisely  how  it 
all  took  place  —  what  Noah  said,  and  thought, 
while  the  ark  was  building,  and  what  the  people, 
who  saw  him  building  the  ark,  said  and  thought 
about  his  undertaking  such  a  work;  and  how 
the  beasts,  birds,  and  fishes  looked,  as  they 
came  in,  arm  in  arm ;  and  what  the  dove  did,  and 
what  the  raven  did  not  —  in  short,  all  the  rest 
of  it:  nothing  could  be  more  beautifully  posted 
up.  What  can  Mr.  Headley  mean,  at  page  17, 
by  the  remark  that  "there  is  no  one  who  does 
not  lament  that  there  is  not  a  fuller  antediluvian 
history"?  We  are  quite  sure  that  nothing 
that  ever  happened  before  the  flood  has  been 
omitted  in  the  scrupulous  researches  of  the 
author  of  "The  Sacred  Mountains." 

He  might,  perhaps,  wrap  up  the  fruits  of  these 
169 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

researches  in  rather  better  English  than  that 
which  he  employs :  — 

"  Yet  still  the  water  rose  around  them  till  all  through 
the  valleys  nothing  but  little  black  islands  of  human 
beings  were  seen  on  the  surface.  .  .  .  The  more 
fixed  the  irrevocable  decree,  the  heavier  he  leaned  on  the 
Omnipotent  arm.  .  .  .  And  lo!  a  solitary  cloud  comes 
'  drifting  along  the  morning  sky  and  catches  against  the 
top  of  the  mountain.  .  .  *  At  length  emboldened  by 
their  own  numbers  they  assembled  tumultuously  to- 
gether. .  .  .  Aaron  never  appears  so  perfect  a  charac- 
ter as  Moses.  ...  As  he  advanced  from  rock  to  rock 
the  sobbing  of  the  multitude  that  followed  after  tore  his 
heart-strings.  .  .  .  Friends  were  following  after  whose 
sick  Christ  had  healed.  .  .  .  The  steady  mountain 
threatened  to  lift  from  its  base  and  be  carried  away. 
,  .  .  Sometimes  God's  hatred  of  sin,  sometimes  His 
care  for  His  children,  sometimes  the  discipline  of  His 
church,  were  the  motives.  .  .  .  Surely  it  was  His 
mighty  hand  that  laid  on  that  trembling,  tottering 
mountain." 

These  things  are  not  exactly  as  we  could  wish 
them,  perhaps ;  but  that  a  gentleman  should  know 
so  much  about  Noah's  ark  and  know  anything 
about  anything  else,  is  scarcely  to  be  expected. 
We  have  no  right  to  require  English  grammar 
and  accurate  information  about  Moses  and  Aaron 
at  the  hands  of  one  and  the  same  author.  For 
our  parts,  now  we  come  to  think  of  it,  if  we  only 
understood  as  much  about  Mount  Sinai  and  other 
matters  as  Mr.  Headley  does,  we  should  make 
170 


HEADLEY'S  "THE  SACRED  MOUNTAINS" 

a  point  of  always  writing  bad  English  upon 
principle,  whether  we  knew  better  or  not. 

It  may  well  be  made  a  question,  moreover, 
how  far  a  man  of  genius  is  justified  in  discuss- 
ing topics  so  serious  as  those  handled  by  Mr. 
Headley,  in  any  ordinary  kind  of  style.  One 
should  not  talk  about  Scriptural  subjects  as  one 
would  talk  about  the  rise  and  fall  of  stocks  or  the 
proceedings  of  Congress.  Mr.  Headley  has 
seemed  to  feel  this  and  has  therefore  elevated  his 
manner  —  a  little.  For  example :  — 

"  The  fields  were  smiling  in  verdure  before  his  eyes ; 
the  perfumed  breezes  floated  by.  .  .  .  The  sun  is  sailing 
over  the  encampment.  .  .  .  That  cloud  was  God's  pa- 
vilion ;  the  thunder  was  its  sentinels ;  and  the  lightning 
the  lances'  points  as  they  moved  round  the  sacred  trust. 
.  .  .  And  how  could  he  part  with  his  children  whom 
he  had  borne  on  his  brave  heart  for  more  than  forty 
years?  .  .  .  Thus  everything  conspired  to  render  Zion 
the  spell-word  of  the  nation  and  on  its  summit  the  heart 
of  Israel  seemed  to  lie  and  throb.  .  .  .  The  sun  died 
in  the  heavens ;  an  earthquake  thundered  on  to  complete 
the  dismay,"  etc.,  etc. 

Here  no  one  can  fail  to  perceive  the  beauty 
(in  an  antediluvian,  or  at  least  in  a  Pickwickian, 
sense)  of  these  expressions  in  general,  about  the 
floating  of  the  breeze,  the  sailing  of  the  sun,  the 
thundering  of  the  earthquake,  and  the  throbbing 
of  the  heart  as  it  lay  on  the  top  of  the  moun- 
tain. 

The  true  artist,  however,  always  rises  as  he  pro- 
171 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

ceeds,  and  in  his  last  page  or  so  brings  all  his 
elocution  to  a  climax.  Only  hear  Mr.  Headley's 
finale.  He  has  been  describing  the  crucifixion, 
and  now  soars  into  the  sublime:  — 

"  How  Heaven  regarded  this  disaster,  and  the  Uni- 
verse felt  at  the  sight,  I  cannot  tell.  I  know  not  but 
tears  fell  like  rain-drops  from  angelic  eyes  when  they 
saw  Christ  spit  upon  and  struck.  I  know  not  but  there 
was  silence  on  high  for  more  than  '  half  an  hour '  when 
the  scene  of  the  crucifixion  was  transpiring  [a  scene,  as 
well  as  an  event,  always  "  transpires  "  with  Mr.  Head- 
ley],  a  silence  unbroken  save  by  the  solitary  sound  of 
some  harp-string  on  which  unconsciously  fell  the  agi- 
tated, trembling  fingers  of  a  seraph.  I  know  not  but 
all  the  radiant  ranks  on  high,  and  even  Gabriel  himself, 
turned  with  the  deepest  solicitude  to  the  Father's  face, 
to  see  if  He  was  calm  and  untroubled  amid  it  all.  I 
know  not  but  His  composed  brow  and  serene  majesty 
were  all  that  restrained  Heaven  from  one  universal 
shriek  of  horror  when  they  heard  groans  on  Calvary  — 
dying  groans.  I  know  not  but  they  thought  God  had 
given  His  glory  to  another,  but  one  thing  I  do  know 
[Ah,  there  is  really  one  thing  Mr.  Headley  knows!] 
—  that  when  they  saw  through  the  vast  design,  compre- 
hended the  stupendous  scene,  the  hills  of  God  shook  to 
a  shout  that  never  before  rung  over  their  bright  tops, 
and  the  crystal  sea  trembled  to  a  song  that  had  never 
before  stirred  its  bright  depths,  and  the  '  Glory  to  God 
in  the  Highest '  was  a  sevenfold  chorus  of  hallelujahs 
and  harping  symphonies." 

Here  we  have  direct  evidence  of  Mr.  Headley's 
accuracy  not  less  than  of  his  eloquence.    "  I  know 
not  but  that "  one  is  as  vast  as  the  other.    The 
172 


HEADLEY'S  "THE  SACRED  MOUNTAINS" 

one  thing  that  he  does  know  he  knows  to  perfec- 
tion :  —  he  knows  not  only  what  the  chorus  was 
(it  was  one  of  "hallelujahs  and  harping  sym- 
phonies ")  but  also  how  much  of  it  there  was  —  it 
was  a  "sevenfold  chorus."  Mr.  Headley  is  a 
mathematical  man.  Moreover,  he  is  a  modest 
man;  for  he  confesses  (no  doubt  with  tears  in  his 
eyes)  that  really  there  is  one  thing  that  he  does 
not  know.  "  How  Heaven  regarded  this  disaster, 
and  the  Universe  felt  at  the  sight,  I  cannot  tell." 
Only  think  of  that!  I  cannot!  —  I,  Headley, 
really  cannot  tell  how  the  Universe  "  felt "  once 
upon  a  time!  This  is  downright  bashfulness  on 
the  part  of  Mr.  Headley.  He  could  tell  if  he 
would  only  try.  Why  did  he  not  inquire?  Had 
he  demanded  of  the  Universe  how  it  felt,  can  any 
one  doubt  that  the  answer  would  have  been  — 
"Pretty  well,  I  thank  you,  my  dear  Headley; 
how  do  you  feel  yourself? " 

"  Quack  "  is  a  word  that  sounds  well  only  in 
the  mouth  of  a  duck;  and  upon  our  honor  we 
feel  a  scruple  in  using  it :  —  nevertheless  the 
truth  should  be  told;  and  the  simple  fact  is,  that 
the  author  of  "The  Sacred  Mountains"  is  the 
Autocrat  of  all  the  Quacks.  In  saying  this,  we 
beg  not  to  be  misunderstood.  We  mean  no  dis- 
paragement to  Mr.  Headley.  We  admire  that 
gentleman  as  much  as  any  individual  ever  did 
except  that  gentleman  himself.  He  looks  re- 
markably well  at  all  points  —  although  perhaps 
173 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 


best,  SKCIC  —  at  a  distance  —  as  the  lying  Pindar 
says  he  saw  Archilochus,  who  died  ages  before 
the  vagabond  was  born:  —  the  reader  will  excuse 
the  digression;  but  talking  of  one  great  man 
is  very  apt  to  put  us  in  mind  of  another.  We 
were  saying  —  were  we  not?  —  that  Mr.  Headley 
is  by  no  means  to  be  sneered  at  as  a  quack.  This 
might  be  justifiable,  indeed,  were  he  only  a 
quack  in  a  small  way  —  a  quack  doing  business 
by  retail.  But  the  wholesale  dealer  is  entitled 
to  respect.  Besides,  the  Reverend  author  of 
"  Napoleon  and  his  Marshals  "  was  a  quack  to 
some  purpose.  He  knows  what  he  is  about. 
We  like  perfection  wherever  we  see  it.  We 
readily  forgive  a  man  for  being  a  fool  if  he 
only  be  a  perfect  fool  —  and  this  is  a  particular 
in  which  we  cannot  put  our  hands  upon  our  hearts 
and  say  that  Mr.  Headley  is  deficient.  He  acts 
upon  the  principle  that  if  a  thing  is  worth  doing 
at  all  it  is  worth  doing  well  :  —  and  the  thing 
that  he  "  does  "  especially  well  is  the  public. 


174 


STEPHENS'S  "ARABIA  PETITE  A" 

MR.  STEPHENS  has  here  given  us  two 
volumes  of  more  than  ordinary  interest  — 
written  with  a  freshness  of  manner,  and  evincing 
a  manliness  of  feeling,  hoth  worthy  of  high  con- 
sideration. Although  in  some  respects  deficient, 
the  work,  too,  presents  some  points  of  moment  to 
the  geographer,  to  the  antiquarian,  and  more 
especially  to  the  theologian.  Viewed  only  as  one 
of  a  class  of  writings  whose  direct  tendency  is  to 
throw  light  upon  the  Book  of  Books,  it  has 
strong  claims  upon  the  attention  of  all  who  read. 
While  the  vast  importance  of  critical  and 
philological  research,  in  dissipating  the  obscuri- 
ties and  determining  the  exact  sense  of  the 
Scriptures,  cannot  be  too  readily  conceded,  it 
may  be  doubted  whether  the  collateral  illustra- 
tion derivable  from  records  of  travel  be  not 
deserving  at  least  equal  consideration.  Certainly 
the  evidence  thus  afforded,  exerting  an  enkin- 
dling influence  upon  the  popular  imagination, 
and  so  taking  palpable  hold  upon  the  popular 
understanding,  will  not  fail  to  become  in  time  a 
most  powerful  because  easily  available  instru- 
ment in  the  downfall  of  unbelief.  Infidelity  itself 
has  often  afforded  unwilling  and  unwitting  testi- 
175 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

mony  to  the  truth.  It  is  surprising  to  find  with 
what  unintentional  precision  both  Gibbon  and 
Volney  (among  others)  have  used,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  description,  in  their  accounts  of  nations 
and  countries,  the  identical  phraseology  employed 
by  the  inspired  writers  when  foretelling  the  most 
improbable  events.  In  this  manner  scepticism 
has  been  made  the  root  of  belief,  and  the  prov- 
idence of  the  Deity  has  been  no  less  remarkable, 
in  the  extent  and  nature  of  the  means  for  bring- 
ing to  light  the  evidence  of  his  accomplished 
word,  than  in  working  the  accomplishment  itself. 
Of  late  days,  the  immense  stores  of  biblical 
elucidation  derivable  from  the  East  have  been 
rapidly  accumulating  in  the  hands  of  the  student. 
When  the  "  Observations "  of  Harmer  were 
given  to  the  public,  he  had  access  to  few  other 
works  than  the  travels  of  Chardin,  Pococke, 
Shaw,  Maundrell,  Pitts,  and  D'Arvieux,  with 
perhaps  those  of  Nau  and  Troilo,  and  Russell's 
"  Natural  History  of  Aleppo."  We  have  now 
a  vast  accession  to  our  knowledge  of  Oriental 
regions.  Intelligent  and  observing  men,  im- 
pelled by  the  various  motives  of  Christian  zeal, 
military  adventure,  the  love  of  gain,  and  the 
love  of  science,  have  made  their  way,  often  at 
imminent  risk,  into  every  land  rendered  holy  by 
the  words  of  revelation.  Through  the  medium 
of  the  pencil,  as  well  as  of  the  pen,  we  are  even 
familiarly  acquainted  with  the  territories  of  the 
176 


STEPHENS'S    "ARABIA    PETRJEA" 

Bible.  Valuable  books  of  eastern  travel  are 
abundant  —  of  which  the  labors  of  Niebuhr, 
Mariti,  Volney,  Porter,  Clarke,  Chateaubriand, 
Burckhardt,  Buckingham,  Morier,  Seetzen,  De 
Lamartine,  Laborde,  Tournef  ort,  Madden,  Mad- 
dox,  Wilkinson,  Arundell,  Mangles,  Leigh,  and 
Hogg,  besides  those  already  mentioned,  are 
merely  the  principal,  or  the  most  extensively 
known.  As  we  have  said,  however,  the  work  be- 
fore us  is  not  to  be  lightly  regarded:  highly 
agreeable,  interesting,  and  instructive,  in  a  gen- 
eral view,  it  also  has,  in  the  connection  now 
adverted  to,  claims  to  public  attention  possessed 
by  no  other  book  of  its  kind. 

In  an  article  prepared  for  this  journal  some 
months  ago,  we  had  traced  the  route  of  Mr. 
Stephens  with  a  degree  of  minuteness  not  desira- 
ble now,  when  the  work  has  been  so  long  in  the 
hands  of  the  public.  At  this  late  day  we  must 
be  content  with  saying,  briefly,  in  regard  to  the 
earlier  portion  of  the  narrative,  that,  arriving 
at  Alexandria  in  December,  1835,  he  thence 
passed  up  the  Nile  as  far  as  the  Lower  Cataracts. 
One  or  two  passages  from  this  part  of  the  tour 
may  still  be  noted  for  observation.  The  annexed 
speculations,  in  regard  to  the  present  city  of 
Alexandria,  are  well  worth  attention. 

"  The  present   city   of  Alexandria,   even   after  the 
dreadful  ravages  made  by  the  plague  last  year,  is  still 
supposed  to  contain  more  than  50,000  inhabitants,  and 
177 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

is  decidedly  growing.  It  stands  outside  the  Delta  in  the 
Libyan  Desert,  and  as  Volney  remarks,  '  It  is  only  by 
the  canal  which  conducts  the  waters  of  the  Nile  into  the 
reservoirs  in  the  time  of  inundation,  that  Alexandria 
can  be  considered  as  connected  with  Egypt.'  Founded 
by  the  great  Alexander,  to  secure  his  conquests  in  the 
East,  being  the  only  safe  harbor  along  the  coast  of 
Syria  or  Africa,  and  possessing  peculiar  commercial 
advantages,  it  soon  grew  into  a  giant  city.  Fifteen 
miles  in  circumference,  containing  a  population  of 
300,000  citizens  and  as  many  slaves,  one  magnificent 
street,  2,000  feet  broad,  ran  the  whole  length  of  the  city, 
from  the  Gate  of  the  Sea  to  the  Canobic  Gate,  com- 
manding a  view,  at  each  end,  of  the  shipping  either  in 
the  Mediterranean  or  in  the  Mareotic  Lake,  and  an- 
other of  equal  length  intersected  it  at  right  angles;  a 
spacious  circus  without  the  Canobic  Gate,  for  chariot- 
races,  and  on  the  east  a  splendid  gymnasium  more  than 
six  hundred  feet  in  length,  with  theatres,  baths,  and  all 
that  could  make  it  a  desirable  residence  for  a  luxurious 
people.  When  it  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Saracens, 
according  to  the  report  of  the  Saracen  general  to  the 
Calif  Omar,  *  it  was  impossible  to  enumerate  the  variety 
of  its  riches  and  beauty ; '  and  it  is  said  to  *  have  con- 
tained four  thousand  palaces,  four  thousand  baths,  four 
hundred  theatres  or  public  edifices,  twelve  thousand 
shops,  and  forty  thousand  tributary  Jews.'  From  that 
time,  like  everything  else  which  falls  into  the  hands  of 
the  Mussulman,  it  has  been  going  to  ruin,  and  the  dis- 
covery of  the  passage  to  India  by  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope  gave  the  death-blow  to  its  commercial  greatness. 
At  present  it  stands  a  phenomenon  in  the  history  of  a 
Turkish  dominion.  It  appears  once  more  to  be  raising 
its  head  from  the  dust.  It  remains  to  be  seen  whether 
this  rise  is  the  legitimate  and  permanent  effect  of  a  wise 

178 


STEPHENS'S    "ARABIA    PETILEA" 

and  politic  government,  combined  with  natural  advan- 
tages, or  whether  the  pacha  is  not  forcing  it  to  an  un- 
natural elevation,  at  the  expense,  if  not  upon  the  ruins, 
of  the  rest  of  Egypt.  It  is  almost  presumptuous,  on  the 
threshold  of  my  entrance  into  Egypt,  to  speculate  upon 
the  future  condition  of  this  interesting  country ;  but  it 
is  clear  that  the  pacha  is  determined  to  build  up  the  city 
of  Alexandria,  if  he  can :  his  fleet  is  here,  his  army,  his 
arsenal,  and  his  forts  are  here,  and  he  has  forced  and 
centred  here  a  commerce  that  was  before  divided  be- 
tween several  places.  Rosetta  has  lost  more  than  two 
thirds  of  its  population.  Damietta  has  become  a  mere 
nothing,  and  even  Cairo  the  Grand  has  become  tributary 
'to  what  is  called  the  regenerated  city."  i.  21,  22. 

We  see  no  presumption  in  this  attempt  to 
speculate  upon  the  future  condition  of  Egypt. 
Its  destinies  are  matter  for  the  attentive  con- 
sideration of  every  reader  of  the  Bible.  No 
words  can  be  more  definitive,  more  utterly  free 
from  ambiguity,  than  the  prophecies  concern- 
ing this  region.  No  events  could  be  more  won- 
derful in  their  nature,  nor  more  impossible  to 
;have  been  foreseen  by  the  eye  of  man,  than  the 
events  foretold  concerning  it.  With  the  earliest 
ages  of  the  world  its  line  of  monarchs  began, 
and  the  annihilation  of  the  entire  dynasty  was 
predicted  during  the  zenith  of  that  dynasty's 
power.  One  of  the  most  lucid  of  the  biblical 
commentators  has  justly  observed  that  the  very 
attempt  once  made  by  infidels  to  show,  from 
the  recorded  number  of  its  monarchs  and  the 
duration  of  their  reigns,  that  Egypt  was  a  king- 
179 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

dom  previous  to  the  Mosaic  era  of  the  deluge, 
places  in  the  most  striking  view  the  extraordi- 
nary character  of  the  prophecies  regarding  it. 
During  two  thousand  years  prior  to  these  pre- 
dictions Egypt  had  never  been  without  a  prince 
of  its  own;  and  how  oppressive  was  its  tyranny 
over  Judaea  and  the  neighboring  nations!  It, 
however,  was  distinctly  foretold  that  this  country 
of  kings  should  no  longer  have  one  of  its  own  — 
that  it  should  be  laid  waste  by  the  hand  of 
strangers  —  that  it  should  be  a  base  kingdom, 
the  basest  of  the  base  —  that  it  should  never 
again  exalt  itself  among  the  nations  —  that  it 
should  be  a  desolation  surrounded  by  desolation. 
Two  thousand  years  have  now  afforded  their 
testimony  to  the  infallibility  of  the  Divine  word, 
and  the  evidence  is  still  accumulative.  "  Its 
past  and  present  degeneracy  bears  not  a  more 
remote  resemblance  to  the  former  greatness  and 
pride  of  its  power  than  the  frailty  of  its  mud- 
walled  fabric  now  bears  to  the  stability  of  its 
imperishable  pyramids."  But  it  should  be  re- 
membered that  there  are  other  prophecies  con- 
cerning it  which  still  await  their  fulfilment.  The 
whole  earth  shall  rejoice,  and  Egypt  shall  not 
be  forever  base:  — 

"  The  Lord  shall  smite  Egypt ;  he  shall  smite  and 
heal  it ;  and  they  shall  return  even  to  the  Lord,  and  he 
shall  be  intreated  of  them,  and  shall  heal  them. 

"  In  that  day  shall  Israel  be  the  third  with  Egypt 
180 


STEPHENS'S    "ARABIA    PETILEA" 

and  with  Assyria,  even  a  blessing  in  the  midst  of  the 
land."    Isa.  xix.  22,  24. 

In  regard  to  the  present  degree  of  political 
power  and  importance  to  which  the  country  has 
certainly  arisen  under  Mohammed  Aly  (an  im- 
portance unknown  for  many  centuries) ,  the  fact, 
as  Mr.  Keith  observes  in  his  valuable  "  Evidence 
of  Prophecy,"  may  possibly  serve,  at  no  distant 
period,  to  illustrate  the  prediction  which  implies, 
that,  however  base  and  degraded  it  might  be 
throughout  many  generations,  it  would,  notwith- 
standing, have  strength  sufficient  to  be  looked  to 
for  aid  or  protection,  even  at  the  time  of  the  res- 
toration of  the  Jews  to  Judaea,  who  will  seek  "  to 
strengthen  themselves  in  the  strength  of  Pharaoh, 
and  trust  in  the  shadow  of  Egypt."  How  em- 
phatically her  present  feeble  prosperity  is,  after 
all,  but  the  shadow  of  the  Egypt  of  the  Pharaohs, 
we  leave  to  the  explorer  of  her  pyramids,  the 
wanderer  among  the  tombs  of  her  kings  or  the 
fragments  of  her  Luxor  and  her  Carnac. 

At  Djiddeh,  formerly  the  capital  of  Upper 
Egypt  and  the  largest  town  on  the  Nile,  Mr. 
Stephens  encountered  two  large  boat-loads  of 
slaves  —  probably  five  or  six  hundred  —  col- 
lected at  Dongola  and  Sennaar. 

"  In  the  East,"  he  writes,  "  slavery  exists  now  pre- 
cisely as  it  did  in  the  days  of  the  patriarchs.    The  slave 
is  received  into  the  family  of  a  Turk,  in  a  relation  more 
confidential  and  respectable  than  that  of  an  ordinary 
181 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

domestic ;  and  when  liberated,  which  very  often  happens, 
stands  upon  the  same  footing  with  a  free  man.  The 
curse  does  not  rest  upon  him  forever;  he  may  sit  at 
the  same  board,  dip  his  hand  in  the  same  dish,  and,  if 
there  are  no  other  impediments,  may  marry  his  mas- 
ter's daughter." 

Morier  says,  in  his  "Journey  through 
Persia"  — 

"  The  manners  of  the  East,  amidst  all  the  changes 
of  government  and  of  religion,  are  still  the  same;  they 
are  living  impressions  from  an  original  mould ;  and,  at 
every  step,  some  object,  some  idiom,  some  dress,  or  some 
custom  of  common  life,  reminds  the  traveller  of  ancient 
times,  and  confirms,  above  all,  the  beauty,  the  accuracy, 
and  the  propriety  of  the  language  and  the  history  of  the 
Bible." 

Sir  John  Chardin,  also,  in  the  preface  to 
his  "  Travels  in  Persia "  employs  similar  lan- 
guage:— 

"  And  the  learned,  to  whom  I  communicated  my  de- 
sign, encouraged  me  very  much  by  their  commendations 
to  proceed  in  it;  and  more  especially  when  I  informed 
them  that  it  is  not  in  Asia,  as  in  our  Europe,  where 
there  are  frequent  changes,  more  or  less,  in  the  form 
of  things,  as  the  habits,  buildings,  gardens,  and  the 
like.  In  the  East  they  are  constant  in  all  things.  The 
habits  are  at  this  day  in  the  same  manner  as  in  the 
precedent  ages;  so  that  one  may  reasonably  believe 
that,  in  that  part  of  the  world,  the  exterior  forms  of 
things  (as  their  manners  and  customs)  are  the  same  now 
as  they  were  two  thousand  years  since,  except  in  such 
changes  as  have  been  introduced  by  religion,  which  are, 
nevertheless,  very  inconsiderable." 
182 


STEPHENS'S    "ARABIA    PETRJEA" 

Nor  is  such  striking  testimony  unsupported. 
From  all  sources  we  derive  evidence  of  the  con- 
formity, almost  of  the  identity,  of  the  modern 
with  the  ancient  usages  of  the  East.  This  stead- 
fast resistance  to  innovation  is  a  trait  remarkably 
confined  to  the  regions  of  biblical  history,  and 
(it  should  not  be  doubted)  will  remain  in  force 
until  it  shall  have  fulfilled  all  the  important  pur- 
poses of  biblical  elucidation.  Hereafter,  when 
the  ends  of  Providence  shall  be  thoroughly 
answered,  it  will  not  fail  to  give  way  before  the 
influence  of  that  very  Word  it  has  been  instru- 
mental in  establishing;  and  the  tide  of  civiliza- 
tion, which  has  hitherto  flowed  continuously  from 
the  rising  to  the  setting  sun,  will  be  driven  back, 
with  a  partial  ebb,  into  its  original  channels. 

Returning  from  the  cataracts,  Mr.  Stephens 
found  himself  safely  at  Cairo,  where  terminated 
his  journeyings  upon  the  Nile.  He  had  passed 
"  from  Migdol  to  Syene,  even  unto  the  borders  of 
Ethiopia."  In  regard  to  the  facilities,  comforts, 
and  minor  enjoyments  of  the  voyage,  he  speaks 
of  them  in  a  manner  so  favorable,  that  many  of 
our  young  countrymen  will  be  induced  to  follow 
his  example.  It  is  an  amusement,  he  says,  even 
ridiculously  cheap,  and  attended  with  no  degree 
of  danger.  A  boat  with  ten  men  is  procured  for 
thirty  or  forty  dollars  a  month,  fowls  for  three 
piastres  a  pair,  a  sheep  for  a  half  or  three  quarters 
of  a  dollar,  and  eggs  for  the  asking.  "  You  sail 
183 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

under  your  own  country's  banner;  and  when  you 
walk  along  the  river,  if  the  Arabs  look  partic- 
ularly black  and  truculent,  you  proudly  feel 
that  there  is  safety  in  its  folds." 

We  now  approach  what  is  by  far  the  most  in- 
teresting and  the  most  important  portion  of  his 
tour.  Mr.  Stephens  had  resolved  to  visit  Mount 
Sinai,  proceeding  thence  to  the  Holy  Land.  If 
he  should  return  to  Suez,  and  thus  across  the 
desert  to  El  Arich  and  Gaza,  he  would  be  sub- 
jected to  a  quarantine  of  fourteen  days  on  ac- 
count of  the  plague  in  Egypt;  and  this  difficulty 
might  be  avoided  by  striking  through  the  heart  of 
the  desert  lying  between  Mount  Sinai  and  the 
frontier  of  Palestine.  This  route  was  beset  with 
danger;  but,  apart  from  the  matter  of  avoiding 
quarantine,  it  had  other  strong  temptations  for 
the  enterprise  and  enthusiasm  of  the  traveller  — 
temptations  not  to  be  resisted.  "  The  route," 
says  Mr.  Stephens,  "  was  hitherto  untravelled," 
and  moreover,  it  lay  through  a  region  upon  which 
has  long  rested,  and  still  rests,  a  remarkable 
curse  of  the  Divinity,  issued  through  the  voices  of 
His  prophets.  We  allude  to  the  land  of  Idumea 
—  the  Edom  of  the  Scriptures.  Some  English 
friends,  who  first  suggested  this  route  to  Mr. 
Stephens,  referred  him,  for  information  concern- 
ing it,  to  Keith  on  the  Prophecies.  Mr.  Keith, 
as  our  readers  are  aware,  contends  for  the  literal 
fulfilment  of  prophecy,  and  in  the  treatise  in  ques- 
184 


STEPHENS'S    "ARABIA    PETILEA" 

tion  brings  forward  a  mass  of  evidence  and  a 
world  of  argument,  which  we,  at  least,  are  con- 
strained to  consider,  as  a  whole,  irrefutable.  We 
look  upon  the  literalness  of  the  understanding  of 
the  Bible  predictions  as  an  essential  feature  in 
prophecy  —  conceiving  minuteness  of  detail  to 
have  been  but  a  portion  of  the  providential  plan 
of  the  Deity  for  bringing  more  visibly  to  light, 
in  after-ages,  the  evidence  of  the  fulfilment  of  His 
word.  No  general  meaning  attached  to  a  pre- 
diction, no  general  fulfilment  of  such  predic- 
tion, could  carry,  to  the  reason  of  mankind, 
inferences  so  unquestionable  as  its  particular 
and  minutely  incidental  accomplishment.  Gen- 
eral statements,  except  in  rare  instances,  are  sus- 
ceptible of  misinterpretation  or  misapplication: 
details  admit  no  shadow  of  ambiguity.  That,  in 
many  striking  cases,  the  words  of  the  prophets 
have  been  brought  to  pass  in  every  particular 
of  a  series  of  minutise,  whose  very  meaning  was 
unintelligible  before  the  period  of  fulfilment,  is 
a  truth  that  few  are  so  utterly  stubborn  as  to 
deny.  We  mean  to  say  that,  in  all  instances,  the 
most  strictly  literal  interpretation  will  apply. 
There  is,  no  doubt,  much  unbelief  founded  upon 
the  obscurity  of  the  prophetic  expression;  and 
the  question  is  frequently  demanded  —  "  wherein 
lies  the  use  of  this  obscurity? — rwhy  are  not 
the  prophecies  distinct?"  —  These  words,  it  is 
said,  are  incoherent,  unintelligible,  and  should  be 
185 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

therefore  regarded  as  untrue.  That  many  proph- 
ecies are  absolutely  unintelligible  should  not 
be  denied  —  it  is  a  part  of  their  essence  that  they 
should  be.  The  obscurity,  like  the  apparently 
irrelevant  detail,  has  its  object  in  the  providence 
of  God.  Were  the  words  of  inspiration,  afford- 
ing insight  into  the  events  of  futurity,  at  all  times 
so  pointedly  clear  that  he  who  runs  might  read, 
they  would  in  many  cases,  even  when  fulfilled, 
afford  a  rational  ground  for  unbelief  in  the 
inspiration  of  their  authors,  and  consequently 
in  the  whole  truth  of  revelation;  for  it  would  be 
supposed  that  these  distinct  words,  exciting 
union  and  emulation  among  Christians,  had  thus 
been  merely  the  means  of  working  out  their  own 
accomplishment.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  the 
most  of  the  predictions  become  intelligible  only 
when  viewed  from  the  proper  point  of  observa- 
tion —  the  period  of  fulfilment.  Perceiving  this, 
the  philosophical  thinker,  and  the  Christian,  will 
draw  no  argument  from  the  obscurity,  against 
the  verity,  of  prophecy.  Having  seen  palpably, 
incontrovertibly  fulfilled,  even  one  of  these  many 
wonderful  predictions,  of  whose  meaning,  until 
the  day  of  accomplishment,  he  could  form  no 
conception ;  and  having  thoroughly  satisfied  him- 
self that  no  human  foresight  could  have  been 
equal  to  such  amount  of  foreknowledge,  he  will 
await,  in  confident  expectation,  that  moment  cer- 


186 


STEPHENS'S    "ARABIA    PETILEA" 

tainly  to  come  when  the  darkness  of  the  veil  shall 
be  uplifted  from  the  others.1 

1  We  cannot  do  better  than  quote  here  the  words  of  a 
writer  in  the  "  London  Quarterly  Review."  "  Twenty  years 
ago  we  read  certain  portions  of  the  prophetic  Scriptures 
with  a  belief  that  they  were  true,  because  other  similar 
passages  had  in  the  course  of  ages  been  proved  to  be  so; 
and  we  had  an  indistinct  notion  that  all  these,  to  us  obscure 
and  indefinite  denunciations,  had  been  —  we  knew  not  very 
well  when  or  how  —  accomplished ;  but  to  have  graphic 
descriptions,  ground  plans,  and  elevations  showing  the  ac- 
tual existence  of  all  the  heretofore  vague  and  shadowy  de- 
nunciations of  God  against  Edom,  does,  we  confess,  excite 
our  feelings,  and  exalt  our  confidence  in  prophecy  to  a 
height  that  no  external  evidence  has  hitherto  done." 

Many  prophecies,  it  should  be  remembered  are  in  a  state 
of  gradual  fulfilment  —  a  chain  of  evidence  being  thus  made 
to  extend  throughout  a  long  series  of  ages,  for  the  benefit 
of  man  at  large,  without  being  confined  to  one  epoch  or 
generation,  which  would  be  the  case  in  a  fulfilment  suddenly 
coming  to  pass.  Thus,  some  portion  of  the  prophecies  con- 
cerning Edom  has  reference  to  the  year  of  recompense  for 
the  controversy  of  Sion. 

One  word  in  regard  to  the  work  of  Keith.  Since  penning 
this  article  we  have  been  grieved  to  see,  in  a  New  York 
daily  paper,  some  strictures  on  this  well-known  treatise, 
which  we  think  unnecessary,  if  not  positively  unjust;  and 
which,  indeed,  are  little  more  than  a  revival  of  the  old 
story  trumped  up  for  purposes  of  its  own,  and  in  the  most 
bitter  spirit  of  unfairness,  by  the  "  London  Quarterly  Re- 
view." We  allude  especially  to  the  charge  of  plagiarism 
from  the  work  of  Bishop  Newton.  It  would  be  quite  as 
reasonable  to  accuse  Dr.  Webster  of  having  stolen  his 
Dictionary  from  Dr.  Johnson,  or  any  other  compiler  of 
having  plundered  any  other.  But  the  work  of  Keith,  as 
we  learn  from  himself,  was  written  hastily,  for  the  immedi- 
ate service,  and  at  the  urgent  solicitation,  of  a  friend,  whose 
faith  wavered  in  regard  to  the  Evidences  of  Prophecy,  and 
187 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

Having  expressed  our  belief  in  the  literal  ful- 
filment of  prophecy  in  all  cases,1  and  having  sug- 
gested, as  one  reason  for  the  non-prevalence  of 
this  belief,  the  improper  point  of  view  from  which 
we  are  accustomed  to  regard  it,  it  remains  to  be 
seen  what  were  the  principal  predictions  in 
respect  to  Idumea. 

"  From  generation  to  generation  it  shall  lie  waste ; 
none  shall  pass  through  it  /or  ever  and  ever. 

"  But  the  cormorant  and  the  bittern  shall  possess  it ; 
the  owl  also  and  the  raven  shall  dwell  in  it ;  and  he  shall 
stretch  out  upon  it  the  line  of  confusion  and  the  stones 
of  emptiness. 

"  They  shall  call  the  nobles  thereof  to  the  kingdom, 

who  applied  to  the  author  to  aid  his  unbelief  with  a  con- 
densed view  of  these  Evidences.  In  the  preface  of  the 
book  thus  composed,  with  no  view  to  any  merits  of  author- 
ship, and,  indeed,  with  none  except  that  of  immediate  utility, 
there  is  found  the  fullest  disclaimer  of  all  pretension  to 
originality  —  surely  motives  and  circumstances  such  as 
these  should  have  sufficed  to  secure  Dr.  Keith  from  the  un- 
meaning charges  of  plagiarism,  which  have  been  so  per- 
tinaciously adduced!  We  do  not  mean  to  deny  that,  in  the 
blindness  of  his  zeal,  and  in  the  firm  conviction  entertained 
by  him  of  the  general  truth  of  his  assumptions,  he  fre- 
quently adopted  surmises  as  facts,  and  did  essential  injury 
to  his  cause  by  carrying  out  his  positions  to  an  unwarrant- 
able length.  With  all  its  inaccuracies,  however,  his  work 
must  still  be  regarded  as  one  of  the  most  important  triumphs 
of  faith,  and,  beyond  doubt,  as  a  most  lucid  and  conclusive 
train  of  argument. 

1  Of  course  it  will  be  understood  that  a  proper  allowance 
must  be  made  for  the  usual  hyperbolical  tendency  of  the 
language  of  the  East. 

188 


STEPHENS'S    "ARABIA    PETILEA" 

but  none  shall  be  there,  and  all  her  princes  shall  be 
nothing. 

"  And  thorns  shall  come  up  in  her  palaces,  nettles 
and  brambles  in  the  fortresses  thereof;  and  it  shall  be 
a  habitation  for  dragons  and  a  court  for  owls. 

"  The  wild  beasts  of  the  desert  shall  also  meet  with 
the  wild  beasts  of  the  island,  and  the  satyr  shall  cry  to 
his  fellow ;  the  screech-owl  also  shall  rest  there,  and  find 
for  herself  a  place  of  rest. 

"  There  shall  the  great  owl  make  her  nest,  and  lay  and 
hatch,  and  gather  under  her  shadow;  there  shall  the 
vultures  also  be  gathered,  every  one  with  her  mate. 

"  Seek  thee  out  of  the  book  of  the  Lord,  and  read ; 
no  one  of  these  shall  fail,  none  shall  want  her  mate; 
for  my  mouth  it  hath  commanded,  and  his  spirit  it  hath 
gathered  them. 

"And  he  hath  cast  the  lot  for  them,  and  his  hand 
hath  divided  it  unto  them  by  line;  they  shall  possess 
it  forever,  from  generation  to  generation  shall  they 
dwell  therein."  Isaiah  xxxiv.  10-17. 

"  Thus  will  I  make  Mount  Seir  most  desolate,  and 
cut  off  -from  it  Jiim  that  passeth  out  and  Jum  that  re- 
turntth."  Ezekiel  xxxv.  7. 

In  regard  to  such  of  the  passages  here  quoted 
as  are  not  printed  in  Italics,  we  must  be  content 
with  referring  to  the  treatise  of  Keith  already 
mentioned,  wherein  the  evidences  of  the  fulfil- 
ment of  the  predictions  in  their  most  minute 
particulars  are  gathered  into  one  view.  We  may 
as  well,  however,  present  here  the  substance  of 
his  observations  respecting  the  words  —  "none 
shall  pass  through  it  forever  and  ever,"  and 
"  thus  will  I  make  Mount  Seir  desolate,  and  cut 
189 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

off  from  it  him  that  passeth  out  and  him  that 
returneth." 

He  says  that  Volney,  Burckhardt,  Joliffe, 
Henniker,  and  Captains  Irby  and  Mangles,  ad- 
duce a  variety  of  circumstances,  all  conspiring  to 
prove  that  Idumea,  which  was  long  resorted  to 
from  every  quarter,  is  so  beset  on  every  side  with 
dangers  to  the  traveller,  that  literally  none  pass 
through  it;  that  even  the  Arabs  of  the  neighbor- 
ing regions,  whose  home  is  the  desert,  and  whose 
occupation  is  wandering,  are  afraid  to  enter  it, 
or  to  conduct  any  within  its  borders.  He  says, 
too,  that  amid  all  this  manifold  testimony  to  its 
truth,  there  is  not,  in  any  single  instance,  the  most 
distant  allusion  to  the  prediction  —  that  the  evi- 
dence is  unsuspicious  and  undesigned. 

A  Roman  road  passed  directly  through 
Idumea  from  Jerusalem  to  Akaba,  and  another 
from  Akaba  to  Moab;  and  when  these  roads 
were  made,  at  a  time  long  posterior  to  the  date 
of  the  predictions,  the  conception  could  not  have 
been  formed,  or  held  credible  by  man,  that  the 
period  would  ever  arrive  when  none  should  pass 
through  it.  Indeed,  seven  hundred  years  after 
the  date  of  the  prophecy,  we  are  informed  by 
Strabo  that  the  roads  were  actually  in  use.  The 
prediction  is  yet  more  surprising,  he  says,  when 
viewed  in  conjunction  with  that  which  implies 
that  travellers  should  pass  by  Idumea  —  "  every 
one  that  goeth  by  shall  be  astonished."  The 
190 


STEPHENS'S    "ARABIA    PETILEA" 

routes  of  the  pilgrims  from  Damascus,  and  from 
Cairo  to  Mecca,  the  one  on  the  east  and  the  other 
towards  the  south  of  Edom,  along  the  whole  of 
its  extent,  go  by  it,  or  touch  partially  on  its 
borders,  without  going  through  it. 

Not  even,  he  says,  the  cases  of  Seetzen  and 
Burckhardt  can  be  urged  against  the  literal 
fulfilment,  although  Seetzen  actually  did  pass 
through  Idumea,  and  Burckhardt  traversed  a 
considerable  portion  of  it.  The  former  died  not 
long  after  the  completion  of  his  journey;  and 
the  latter  never  recovered  from  the  effects  of  the 
hardships  endured  on  the  route  —  dying  at 
Cairo.  "  Neither  of  them,"  we  have  given  the 
precise  words  of  Mr.  Keith,  "lived  to  return 
to  Europe.  I  will  cut  off  from  Mount  Seir 
him  that  passeth  out  and  him  that  returneth. 
Strabo  mentions  that  there  was  a  direct  road 
from  Petra  to  Jericho,  of  three  or  four  days' 
journey.  Captains  Irby  and  Mangles  were 
eighteen  days  in  reaching  it  from  Jerusalem. 
They  did  not  pass  through  Idumea,  and  they 
did  return.  Seetzen  and  Burckhardt  did  pass 
through  it,  and  they  did  not  return." 

"  The  words  of  the  prediction,"  he  elsewhere 
observes,  "  might  well  be  understood  as  merely 
implying  that  Idumea  would  cease  to  be  a 
thoroughfare  for  the  commerce  of  the  nations 
which  adjoined  it,  and  that  its  highly-frequented 
marts  would  be  forsaken  as  centres  of  inter- 
191 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

course  and  traffic;  and  easy  would  have  been  the 
task  of  demonstrating  its  truth  in  this  limited 
sense  which  scepticism  itself  ought  not  to  be 
unwilling  to  authorize." 

Here  is,  no  doubt,  much  inaccuracy  and  mis- 
understanding; and  the  exact  boundaries  of 
ancient  Edom  are,  apparently,  not  borne  in 
mind  by  the  commentator.  Idumea  proper  was, 
strictly  speaking,  only  the  mountainous  tract  of 
country  east  of  the  valley  of  El-Ghor.  The 
Idumeans,  if  we  rightly  apprehend,  did  not  get 
possession  of  any  portion  of  the  south  of  Judaea 
till  after  the  exile,  and  consequently  until  after 
the  prophecies  in  question.  They  then  advanced 
as  far  as  Hebron,  where  they  were  arrested  by 
the  Maccabees.  That  "Seetzen  actually  did 
pass  through  Idumea,"  cannot  therefore  be  as- 
serted; and  thus  much  is  in  favor  of  the  whole 
argument  of  Dr.  Keith,  while  in  contradiction 
to  a  branch  of  that  argument.  The  traveller  in 
question  (see  his  own  "Narrative"),  pursuing 
his  route  on  the  east  of  the  Dead  Sea,  proceeded 
no  farther  in  this  direction  then  to  Kerek,  when 
he  retraced  his  way  —  afterwards  going  from 
Hebron  to  Mount  Sinai,  over  the  desert  east- 
ward of  Edom.  Neither  is  it  strictly  correct  that 
he  "died  not  long  after  the  completion  of  his 
journey."  Several  years  afterwards  he  was 
actively  employed  in  Egypt;  and  finally  died, 
not  from  constitutional  injury  sustained  from 
192 


STEPHENS'S    "ARABIA    PETR^EA" 

any  former  adventure,  but,  if  we  remember, 
from  the  effects  of  poison  administered  by  his 
guide  in  a  journey  from  Mocha  into  the  heart 
of  Arabia.  We  see  no  ground  either  for  the 
statement  that  Burckhardt  owed  his  death  to 
hardships  endured  in  Idumea.  Having  visited 
Petra,  and  crossed  the  western  desert  of  Egypt 
in  the  year  1812,  we  find  him,  four  years  after- 
wards, sufficiently  well,  at  Mount  Sinai.  He 
did  not  die  until  the  close  of  1817,  and  then  of 
a  diarrhoea  brought  about  by  the  imprudent  use 
of  cold  water. 

But  let  us  dismiss  these  and  some  other  in- 
stances of  misstatement.  It  should  not  be  a 
matter  of  surprise  that,  perceiving,  as  he  no 
doubt  did,  the  object  of  the  circumstantiality  of 
prophecy,  clearly  seeing  in  how  many  wonder- 
ful cases  its  minutiae  had  been  fulfilled,  and 
withal  being  thoroughly  imbued  with  a  love  of 
truth,  and  with  that  zeal  which  is  becoming  in  a 
Christian,  Dr.  Keith  should  have  plunged  some- 
what hastily  or  blindly  into  these  inquiries,  and 
pushed  to  an  improper  extent  the  principle  for 
which  he  contended.  It  should  be  observed  that 
the  passage  cited  just  above  in  regard  to  Seetzen 
and  Burckhardt,  is  given  in  a  foot-note,  and  has 
the  appearance  of  an  after-thought,  about  whose 
propriety  its  author  did  not  feel  perfectly  con- 
tent. It  is  certainly  very  difficult  to  reconcile 
the  literal  fulfilment  of  the  prophecy  with  an 
193 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

acknowledgment  militating  so  violently  against 
it  as  we  find  in  his  own  words  — "  Seetzen 
actually  did  pass  through  Idumea,  and  Burck- 
hardt  travelled  through  a  considerable  portion  of 
it."  And  what  we  are  told  subsequently  in 
respect  to  Irby  and  Mangles,  and  Seetzen  and 
Burckhardt  —  that  these  did  not  pass  through 
Idumea  and  did  return,  while  those  did  pass 
through  and  did  not  return  —  where  a  passage 
from  Ezekiel  is  brought  to  sustain  collaterally  a 
passage  from  Isaiah  —  is  certainly  "not  in  the 
spirit  of  literal  investigation;  partaking,  indeed, 
somewhat  of  equivoque. 

But  in  regard  to  the  possibility  of  the  actual 
passage  through  Edom,  we  might  now  consider 
all  ambiguity  at  an  end,  could  we  suffer  ourselves 
to  adopt  the  opinion  of  Mr.  Stephens,  that  he 
himself  had  at  length  traversed  the  disputed 
region.  What  we  have  said  already,  however, 
respecting  the  proper  boundaries  of  that  Idumea 
to  which  the  prophecies  have  allusion,  will  assure 
the  reader  that  we  cannot  entertain  this  idea. 
It  will  be  clearly  seen  that  he  did  not  pass 
through  the  Edom  of  Ezekiel.  That  he  might 
have  done  so,  however,  is  sufficiently  evident. 
The  indomitable  perseverance  which  bore  him  up 
amid  the  hardships  and  dangers  of  the  route 
actually  traversed,  would,  beyond  doubt,  have 
sufficed  to  insure  him  a  successful  passage  even 
through  Idumea  the  proper.  And  this  we  say, 
194 


STEPHENS'S    "ARABIA    PETILEA" 

maintaining  still  an  unhesitating  belief  in  the 
literal  understanding  of  the  prophecies.  It  is 
essential,  however,  that  these  prophecies  be 
literally  rendered;  and  it  is  a  matter  for  regret  as 
well  as  surprise,  that  Dr.  Keith  should  have  failed 
to  determine  so  important  a  point  as  the  exact- 
ness or  falsity  of  the  version  of  his  text.  This 
we  will  now  briefly  examine. 
Isaiah  xxxiv.  10. 


—  "  For  an  eternity," 
—  "  of  eternities," 
—  "not," 

—  "  moving  about," 

—  "in  it." 


"  For  an  eternity  of  eternities  (there  shall)  not 
(be  any  one)  moving  about  in  it."  The  literal 
meaning  of  -a?"  is  " m  it"  not  " through  it." 
The  participle  *^w  refers  to  one  moving  to 
and  fro  or  up  and  down,  and  is  the  same  term 
which  is  rendered  "  current"  as  an  epithet  of 
money,  in  Genesis  xxiii.  16.  The  prophet  means 
that  there  shall  be  no  marks  of  Tif e  in  the  land, 
no  living  being  there,  no  one  moving  up  and  down 
in  it:  and  are,  of  course,  to  be  taken  with  the 
usual  allowance  for  that  hyperbole  which  is  a 
main  feature,  and  indeed  the  genius  of  the  lan- 
guage. 

Ezekiel  xxxv.  7. 

195 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

VWJJ  —  "  and  I  will  give," 
—  "  the  mountain," 
t?—  "Seir," 
riDD$S  —  "  for  a  desolation," 
HDDtf  *  —  "  and  a  desolation," 

"  and  I  will  cut  off," 
_  «  from  it," 
£—  "him  that  goeth," 
—  "  and  him  that  returneth." 


"  And  I  will  give  mount  Seir  for  an  utter  deso- 
lation, and  will  cut  off  from  it  him  that  passeth 
and  repasseih  therein"  The  reference  here  is  the 
same  as  in  the  previous  passage,  and  the  inhabi- 
tants of  the  land  are  alluded  to  as  moving  about 
therein,  and  actively  employed  in  the  business 
of  life.  The  meaning  of  "  passing  and  repass- 
ing  "  is  sanctioned  by  Gesenius,  s.  v.  vol.  2,  p. 
570,  Leo's  translation.  Compare  Zechariah  vii. 
14,  and  ix.  8.  There  is  something  analogous  in 
the  Hebrew-Greek  phrase  occurring  in  Acts  ix. 
28.  Kai  nb  uet'  autwv  eionopevouevos  kai 
eknopevoueos  ev  'Ipovaaynu.  "  And  he  was 
with  them  in  Jerusalem  coming  in  and  going 
out."  The  Latin  "versatus  est"  conveys  the 
meaning  precisely;  which  is,  that  Saul,  the  new 
convert,  was  on  intimate  terms  with  the  true  be- 
lievers in  Jerusalem,  moving  about  among  them 
to  and  fro,  or  in  and  out.  It  is  plain,  therefore, 
that  the  words  of  the  prophets,  in  both  cases,  and 
196 


STEPHENS'S    "ARABIA    PETRJEA" 

when  literally  construed,  intend  only  to  predict 
the  general  desolation  and  abandonment  of  the 
land.  Indeed,  it  should  have  been  taken  into  con- 
sideration, that  a  strict  prohibition  on  the  part 
of  the  Deity,  of  an  entrance  into,  or  passage 
through,  Idumea,  would  have  effectually  cut  off 
from  mankind  all  evidence  of  this  prior  sentence 
of  desolation  and  abandonment;  the  prediction 
itself  being  thus  rendered  a  dead  letter,  when 
viewed  in  regard  to  its  ulterior  and  most  im- 
portant purpose  —  the  dissemination  of  the  faith. 

Mr.  Stephens  was  strongly  dissuaded  from  his 
design.  Almost  the  only  person  who  encouraged 
him  was  Mr.  Gliddon,  our  consul;  and  but  for 
him  the  idea  would  have  been  abandoned.  The 
dangers  indeed  were  many,  and  the  difficulties 
more.  By  good  fortune,  however,  the  Sheik  of 
Akaba  was  then  at  Cairo.  The  great  yearly 
caravan  of  pilgrims  for  Mecca  was  assembling 
beneath  the  walls,  and  he  had  been  summoned 
by  the  pacha  to  escort  and  protect  them  through 
the  desert  as  far  as  Akaba.  He  was  the  chief  of 
a  powerful  tribe  of  Bedouins,  maintaining,  in  all 
its  vigor,  the  independence  of  their  race,  and 
bidding  defiance  to  the  pacha,  while  they  yielded 
him  such  obedience  as  comported  with  their  own 
immediate  interests. 

With  this  potentate  our  traveller  entered  into 
negotiation.  The  precise  service  required  of  him 
was  to  conduct  Mr.  Stephens  from  Akaba  to 
197 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

Hebron,  through  the  land  of  Edom,  diverging  to 
visit  the  excavated  city  of  Petra, —  a  journey 
of  about  ten  days.  A  very  indefinite  arrange- 
ment was  at  length  made.  Mr.  Stephens,  after 
visiting  Mount  Sinai,  was  to  repair  to  Akaba, 
where  he  would  meet  the  escort  of  the  Bedouin. 
With  a  view  to  protection  on  his  way  from  Cairo 
to  the  Holy  Mountain,  the  latter  gave  him  his 
signet,  which  he  told  him  would  be  respected  by 
all  Arabs  on  the  route. 

The  arrangements  for  the  journey  as  far  as 
Mount  Sinai  had  been  made  for  our  traveller 
by  Mr.  Gliddon.  A  Bedouin  was  procured  as 
guide  who  had  been  with  M.  Laborde  to  Petra, 
and  whose  faith,  as  well  as  capacity,  could  be 
depended  upon.  The  caravan  consisted  of  eight 
camels  and  dromedaries,  with  three  young  Arabs 
as  drivers.  The  tent  was  the  common  tent  of 
the  Egyptian  soldiers,  bought  at  the  govern- 
ment factory,  being  very  light,  easily  carried  and 
pitched.  The  bedding  was  a  mattress  and  cover- 
let: provision,  bread,  biscuit,  rice,  macaroni,  tea, 
coffee,  dried  apricots,  oranges,  a  roasted  leg  of 
mutton,  and  two  large  skins  containing  the 
filtered  water  of  the  Nile.  Thus  equipped,  the 
party  struck  immediately  into  the  desert  lying 
between  Cairo  and  Suez,  reaching  the  latter 
place,  with  but  little  incident,  after  a  journey  of 
four  days.  At  Suez,  our  traveller,  wearied  with 
his  experiment  of  the  dromedary,  made  an  at- 
193 


STEPHENS'S  "ARABIA  PETILEA  » 

tempt  to  hire  a  boat,  with  a  view  of  proceeding 
down  the  Red  Sea  to  Tor,  supposed  to  be  the 
Elino,  or  place  of  palm-trees  mentioned  in  the 
Exodus  of  the  Israelites,  and  only  two  days' 
journey  from  Mount  Sinai.  The  boats,  however, 
were  all  taken  by  pilgrims,  and  none  could  be 
procured  —  at  least  for  so  long  a  voyage.  He 
accordingly  sent  off  his  camels  round  the  head 
of  the  gulf,  and,  crossing  himself  by  water,  met 
them  on  the  Petrsean  side  of  the  sea. 

"  I  am  aware,"  says  Mr.  Stephens,  "  that  there  is 
some  dispute  as  to  the  precise  spot  where  Moses 
crossed ;  but  having  no  time  for  scepticism  on  such  mat- 
ters, I  began  by  making  up  my  mind  that  this  was  the 
place,  and  then  looked  around  to  see  whether,  according 
to  the  account  given  in  the  Bible,  the  face  of  the  coun- 
try and  the  natural  landmarks  did  not  sustain  my 
opinion.  I  remember  I  looked  up  to  the  head  of  the 
gulf,  where  Suez  or  Kolsum  now  stands,  and  saw  that 
almost  to  the  very  head  of  the  gulf  there  was  a  high 
range  of  mountains  which  it  would  be  necessary  to 
cross,  an  undertaking  which  it  would  have  been  physi- 
cally impossible  for  600,000  people,  men,  women,  and 
children,  to  accomplish,  with  a  hostile  army  pursuing 
them.  At  Suez,  Moses  could  not  have  been  hemmed  in  as 
he  was ;  he  could  go  off  into  the  Syrian  desert,  or,  unless 
the  sea  has  greatly  changed  since  that  time,  round  the 
head  of  the  gulf.  But  here,  directly  opposite  where  I 
sat,  was  an  opening  in  the  mountains,  making  a  clear 
passage  from  the  desert  to  the  shore  of  the  sea.  It  is 
admitted  that  from  the  earliest  history  of  the  country, 
there  was  a  caravan  route  from  the  Rameseh  of  the 
Pharaohs  to  this  spot,  and  it  was  perfectly  clear  to  my 
199 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

mind  that,  if  the  account  be  true  at  all,  Moses  had 
taken  that  route ;  that  it  was  directly  opposite  me,  be- 
tween the  two  mountains,  where  he  had  come  down  with 
his  multitude  to  the  shore,  and  that  it  was  there  he  had 
found  himself  hemmed  in,  in  the  manner  described  in  the 
Bible,  with  the  sea  before  him,  and  the  army  of  Pharaoh 
in  his  rear ;  it  was  there  he  stretched  out  his  hand  and 
divided  the  waters;  and  probably  on  the  very  spot 
where  I  sat  the  children  of  Israel  had  kneeled  upon  the 
sands  to  offer  thanks  to  God  for  his  miraculous  inter- 
position. The  distance,  too,  was  in  confirmation  of  this 
opinion.  It  was  about  twenty  miles  across ;  the  distance 
which  that  immense  multitude,  with  their  necessary  bag- 
gage, could  have  passed  in  the  space  of  time  (a  night) 
mentioned  in  the  Bible.  Besides  my  own  judgment  and 
conclusions,  I  had  authority  on  the  spot,  in  my  Bedouin 
Toualeb,  who  talked  of  it  with  as  much  certainty  as  if 
he  had  seen  it  himself;  and  by  the  waning  light  of  the 
moon,  pointed  out  the  metes  and  bounds  according  to 
the  tradition  received  from  his  fathers." 

Mr.  Stephens  is  here  greatly  in  error,  and 
has  placed  himself  in  direct  opposition  to  all 
authority  on  the  subject.  It  is  quite  evident  that, 
since  the  days  of  the  miracle,  the  sea  has  "  greatly 
changed  "  round  the  head  of  the  gulf.  It  is  now 
several  feet  lower,  as  appears  from  the  alluvial 
condition  of  several  bitter  lakes  in  the  vicinity. 
On  this  topic  Niebuhr,  who  examined  the  matter 
with  his  accustomed  learning,  acumen,  and  per- 
severance, is  indisputable  authority.  But  he 
merely  agrees  with  all  the  most  able  writers  on 
this  head.  The  passage  occurred  at  Suez.  The 
chief  arguments  sustaining  this  position  are  de- 
200 


STEPHENS'S  "ARABIA  PETRJEA" 

duced  from  the  ease  by  which  the  miracle  could 
have  been  wrought,  on  a  sea  so  shaped,  by  means 
of  a  strong  wind  blowing  from  the  northeast. 

Resuming  his  journey  to  the  southward,  our 
traveller  passed  safely  through  a  barren  and 
mountainous  region,  bare  of  verdure,  and  desti- 
tute of  water,  in  about  seven  days,  to  Mount 
Sinai.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that,  in  his  account 
of  a  country  so  little  traversed  as  this  peninsula, 
Mr.  Stephens  has  not  entered  more  into  detail. 
Upon  his  adventures  at  the  Holy  Mountain, 
which  are  of  great  interest,  he  dwells  somewhat 
at  length. 

At  Akaba  he  met  the  SHeik  as  by  agreement. 
A  horse  of  the  best  breed  of  Arabia  was  provided; 
and,  although  suffering  from  ill  health,  he  pro- 
ceeded manfully  through  the  desert  to  Petra  and 
Mount  Hor.  The  difficulties  of  the  route  proved 
to  be  chiefly  those  arising  from  the  rapacity  of 
his  friend,  the  Sheik  of  Akaba,  who  threw  a  thou- 
sand impediments  in  his  way  with  the  purpose 
of  magnifying  the  importance  of  the  service 
rendered,  and  obtaining,  in  consequence,  the 
larger  allowance  of  bakhshish. 

The  account  given  of  Petra  agrees  in  all  im- 
portant particulars  with  those  rendered  by  the 
very  few  travellers  who  had  previously  visited  it. 
With  these  accounts  our  readers  are  sufficiently 
acquainted.  The  singular  character  of  the  city, 
its  vast  antiquity,  its  utter  loss,  for  more  than  a 
201 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

thousand  years,  to  the  eyes  of  the  civilized  world, 
and,  above  all,  the  solemn  denunciations  of 
prophecy  regarding  it,  have  combined  to  invest 
these  ruins  with  an  interest  beyond  that  of  any 
others  in  existence,  and  to  render  what  has  been 
written  concerning  them  familiar  knowledge  to 
nearly  every  individual  who  reads. 

Leaving  Petra,  after  visiting  Mount  Hor,  Mr. 
Stephens  returned  to  the  valley  of  El-Ghor,  and 
fell  into  the  caravan  route  for  Gaza,  which 
crosses  the  valley  obliquely.  Coming  out  from 
the  ravine  among  the  mountains  to  the  westward, 
he  here  left  the  road  to  Gaza,  and  pushed  im- 
mediately on  to  Hebron.  This  distance  (be- 
tween the  Gaza  route  and  Hebron)  is,  we  be- 
lieve, the  only  positively  new  route  accomplished 
by  our  American  tourist.  We  understand  that, 
in  1826,  Messieurs  Strangeways  and  Anson 
passed  over  the  ground,  on  the  Gaza  road  from 
Petra,  to  the  point  where  it  deviates  for  Hebron. 
On  the  part  of  Mr.  Stephens's  course,  which  we 
have  thus  designated  as  new,  it  is  well  known  that 
a  great  public  road  existed  in  the  later  days  of 
the  Roman  empire,  and  that  several  cities  were 
located  immediately  upon  it.  Mr.  Stephens  dis- 
covered some  ruins,  but  his  state  of  health,  un- 
fortunately, prevented  a  minute  investigation. 
Those  which  he  encountered  are  represented 
as  forming  rude  and  shapeless  masses ;  there  were 
no  columns,  no  blocks  of  marble,  or  other  large 
202 


STEPHENS'S  "  ARABIA  PETR^EA  " 

stones,  indicating  architectural  greatness.  The 
Pentinger  Tables  place  Helusa  in  this  immediate 
vicinity,  and,  but  for  the  character  of  the  ruins 
seen,  we  might  have  supposed  them  to  be  the 
remnants  of  that  city. 

The  latter  part  of  our  author's  second  volume 
is  occupied  with  his  journeyings  in  the  Holy 
Land,  and,  principally,  with  an  account  of  his 
visit  to  Jerusalem.  What  relates  to  the  Dead 
Sea  we  are  induced  to  consider  as,  upon  the 
whole,  the  most  interesting,  if  not  the  most  im- 
portant portion  of  his  book.  It  was  his  original 
intention  to  circumnavigate  this  lake,  but  the 
difficulty  of  procuring  a  boat  proved  an  obstacle 
not  to  be  surmounted.  He  traversed,  neverthe- 
less, no  little  extent  of  its  shores,  bathed  in  it, 
saw  distinctly  that  the  Jordan  does  mingle  with 
its  waters,  and  that  birds  floated  upon  it,  and 
flew  over  its  surface. 

But  it  is  time  that  we  conclude.  Mr.  Ste- 
phens passed  through  Samaria  and  Galilee,  stop- 
ping at  Nablous,  the  ancient  Sychem;  the  burial- 
place  of  the  patriarch  Joseph;  and  the  ruins  of 
Sebaste;  crossed  the  battle-plain  of  Jezreel;  as- 
cended Mount  Tabor;  visited  Nazareth,  the  lake 
of  Genesareth,  the  cities  of  Tiberias  and  Saphet, 
Mount  Carmel,  Acre,  Sour,  and  Sidon.  At  Bey- 
root  he  took  passage  for  Alexandria,  and  thence 
finally  returned  to  Europe. 

The  volumes  are  written  in  general  with  a 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

freedom,  a  frankness,  and  an  utter  absence  of 
pretension,  which  will  secure  them  the  respect 
and  good-will  of  all  parties.  The  author  pro- 
fesses to  have  compiled  his  narrative  merely  from 
"  brief  notes  and  recollections,"  admitting  that 
he  has  probably  fallen  into  errors  regarding  facts 
and  impressions  —  errors  he  has  been  prevented 
from  seeking  out  and  correcting  by  the  urgency 
of  other  occupations  since  his  return.  We  have, 
therefore,  thought  it  quite  as  well  not  to  trouble 
our  readers,  in  this  cursory  review,  with  refer- 
ences to  parallel  travels,  now  familiar,  and  whose 
merits  and  demerits  are  sufficiently  well  under- 
stood. 

We  take  leave  of  Mr.  Stephens  with  senti- 
ments of  hearty  respect.  We  hope  it  is  not  the 
last  time  we  shall  hear  from  him.  He  is  a  trav- 
eller with  whom  we  shall  like  to  take  other 
journeys.  Equally  free  from  the  exaggerated 
sentimentality  of  Chateaubriand,  or  the  sub- 
limated, the  too  French  enthusiasm  of  Lamartine 
on  the  one  hand,  and  on  the  other  from  the  de- 
grading spirit  of  utilitarianism,  which  sees  in 
mountains  and  waterfalls  only  quarries  and 
manufacturing  sites,  Mr.  Stephens  writes  like  a 
man  of  good  sense  and  sound  feeling. 


204 


IK 


.-*.-  set  on  foot, 
geraiemafi,  about  the  ye 
having  for  its  object  a 
extensive  scale,  in  I! 
the  Indians  ia  all  t he  w- 
regions  of  Not^h  Amen 

fully  alive  to  the  <  t<*res1  of  this  su 

ject,  Mr,  Astor  wa«  induceci  to  express  a  rrg> 
that  the  true  nature  and  extent  of  the  «nt* 
prise,  together  with  its  great  national  ehamct 
mui  importance,  had  never  been  R^n^rally  em 
•ended;  and  a  ^  ;  *  Mr.  Irving  wn^j 
undertake  to  give  an  account  of  if,  To 
consented.  All  the  papers  relative  to  t- 

PORTRAIT  FROM  A  PHOTOGRAPH  OF  A  DAGUERREOTYPE 

Formerly  in  the  po*8e#*ion  of  Thomas  H.  Darid.-'on 


/  .'Tons  A  MOH-I  TI/JITHOI 


IRVING'S  "ASTORIA" 

MR.  IRVING'S  acquaintance  at  Montreal, 
many  years  since,  with  some  of  the  prin- 
cipal partners  of  the  great  Northwest  Fur  Com- 
pany, was  the  means  of  interesting  him  deeply 
in  the  varied  concerns  of  trappers,  hunters,  and 
Indians,  and  in  all  the  adventurous  details  con- 
nected with  the  commerce  in  peltries.  Not  long 
after  his  return  from  his  late  tour  to  the  prairies, 
he  held  a  conversation  with  his  friend,  Mr.  John 
Jacob  Astor,  of  New  York,  in  relation  to  an 
enterprise  set  on  foot,  and  conducted  by  that 
gentleman,  about  the  year  1812,  —  an  enterprise 
having  for  its  object  a  participation,  on  the  most 
extensive  scale,  in  the  fur  trade  carried  on  with 
the  Indians  in  all  the  western  and  northwestern 
regions  of  North  America.  Finding  Mr.  Irving 
fully  alive  to  the  exciting  interest  of  this  sub- 
ject, Mr.  Astor  was  induced  to  express  a  regret 
that  the  true  nature  and  extent  of  the  enter- 
prise, together  with  its  great  national  character 
and  importance,  had  never  been  generally  com- 
prehended; and  a  wish  that  Mr.  Irving  would 
undertake  to  give  an  account  of  it.  To  this  he 
consented.  All  the  papers  relative  to  the  mat- 
ter were  submitted  to  his  inspection;  and  the 
volumes  now  before  us  (two  well-sized  octavos) 
205 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

are  the  result.  The  work  has  been  accomplished 
in  a  masterly  manner  —  the  modesty  of  the  title 
affording  no  indication  of  the  fulness,  compre- 
hensiveness, and  beauty,  with  which  a  long  and 
entangled  series  of  detail,  collected  necessarily 
from  a  mass  of  vague  and  imperfect  data,  has 
been  wrought  into  completeness  and  unity. 

Supposing  our  readers  acquainted  with  the 
main  features  of  the  original  fur  trade  in 
America,  we  shall  not  follow  Mr.  Irving  in  his 
vivid  account  of  the  primitive  French  Canadian 
merchant,  his  jovial  establishments  and  depen- 
dants—  of  the  licensed  traders,  missionaries, 
"  voyageurs,"  and  "  coureurs  des  bois  "  —  of  the 
British  Canadian  fur  merchant  —  of  the  rise  of 
the  great  Company  of  the  "  Northwest,"  its  con- 
stitution and  internal  trade,  its  parliamentary 
hall  and  banqueting  room,  its  boating,  its  hunt- 
ings, its  wassailings,  and  other  magnificent 
feudal  doings  in  the  wilderness.  It  was  the 
British  Mackinaw  Company,  we  presume  (a 
company  established  in  rivalry  of  the  "  North- 
west "),  the  scene  of  whose  main  operations  first 
aroused  the  attention  of  our  government.  Its 
chief  factory  was  established  at  Michilimacki- 
nac,  and  sent  forth  its  perogues,  by  Green  Bay, 
Fox  River,  and  the  Wisconsin,  to  the  Missis- 
sippi, and  thence  to  all  its  tributary  streams  —  in 
this  way  hoping  to  monopolize  the  trade  with  all 
the  Indian  tribes  on  the  southern  and  western 
206 


IRVING'S  "ASTORIA" 

waters  of  our  own  territory,  as  the  "  North- 
west "  had  monopolized  it  along  the  waters  of  the 
north.  Of  course,  we  now  began  to  view  with  a 
jealous  eye,  and  to  make  exertions  for  counter- 
acting, the  influence  hourly  acquired  over  our 
own  aborigines  by  these  immense  combinations 
of  foreigners.  In  1796,  the  United  States  sent 
out  agents  to  establish  rival  trading  houses  on 
the  frontier,  and  thus,  by  supplying  the  wants 
of  the  Indians,  to  link  their  interests  with  ours, 
and  to  divert  the  trade,  if  possible,  into  national 
channels.  The  enterprise  failed  —  being,  we 
suppose,  inefficiently  conducted  and  supported; 
and  the  design  was  never  afterwards  attempted 
until  by  the  individual  means  and  energy  of 
Mr.  Astor. 

John  Jacob  Astor  was  born  in  Waldorf,  a 
German  village,  near  Heidelberg,  on  the  banks 
of  the  Rhine.  While  yet  a  youth,  he  foresaw 
that  he  would  arrive  at  great  wealth,  and,  leav- 
ing home,  took  his  way,  alone,  to  London,  where 
he  found  himself  at  the  close  of  the  American 
Revolution.  An  elder  brother  being  in  the 
United  States,  he  followed  him  there.  In  Jan- 
uary, 1784,  he  arrived  in  Hampton  Roads,  with 
some  little  merchandise  suited  to  the  American 
market.  On  the  passage,  he  had  become  ac- 
quainted with  a  countryman  of  his,  a  furrier, 
from  whom  he  derived  much  information  in  re- 
gard to  furs,  and  the  manner  of  conducting 
207 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

the  trade.  Subsequently,  he  accompanied  this 
gentleman  to  New  York,  and,  by  his  advice,  in- 
vested the  proceeds  of  his  merchandise  in  pel- 
tries. With  these,  he  sailed  to  London,  and, 
having  disposed  of  his  adventure  advantageously, 
he  returned  the  same  year  (1784)  to  New  York, 
with  a  view  of  settling  in  the  United  States,  and 
prosecuting  the  business  thus  commenced.  Mr. 
Astor's  beginnings  in  this  way  were  necessarily 
small  —  but  his  perseverance  was  indomitable, 
his  integrity  unimpeachable,  and  his  economy 
of  the  most  rigid  kind.  "  To  these,"  says  Mr. 
Irving,  "  were  added  an  aspiring  spirit,  that  al- 
ways looked  upward;  a  genius  bold,  fertile,  and 
expansive;  a  sagacity  quick  to  grasp  and  con- 
vert every  circumstance  to  its  advantage,  and  a 
singular  and  never  wavering  confidence  of  signal 
success."  These  opinions  are  more  than  re- 
echoed by  the  whole  crowd  of  Mr.  Astor's  nu- 
merous acquaintances  and  friends,  and  are  most 
strongly  insisted  upon  by  those  who  have  the 
pleasure  of  knowing  him  best. 

In  the  United  States,  the  fur  trade  was  not 
yet  sufficiently  organized  to  form  a  regular  line 
of  business.  Mr.  Astor  made  annual  visits  to 
Montreal  for  the  purpose  of  buying  peltries; 
and,  as  no  direct  trade  was  permitted  from 
Canada  to  any  country  but  England,  he  shipped 
them,  when  bought,  immediately  to  London. 
This  difficulty  being  removed,  however,  by  the 
208 


IRVING'S  "ASTORIA" 

treaty  of  1795,  he  made  a  contract  for  furs  with 
the  Northwest  Company,  and  imported  them 
from  Montreal  into  the  United  States  —  thence 
shipping  a  portion  to  different  parts  of  Europe, 
as  well  as  to  the  principal  market  in  China. 

By  the  treaty  just  spoken  of,  the  British  pos- 
sessions on  our  side  of  the  Lakes  were  given  up, 
and  an  opening  made  for  the  American  fur- 
trader  on  the  confines  of  Canada,  and  within  the 
territories  of  the  United  States.  Here,  Mr. 
Astor,  about  the  year  1807,  adventured  largely 
on  his  own  account;  his  increased  capital  now 
placing  him  among  the  chief  of  American  mer- 
chants. The  influence  of  the  Mackinaw  Com- 
pany, however,  proved  too  much  for  him,  and  he 
was  induced  to  consider  the  means  of  entering 
into  successful  competition.  He  was  aware  of 
the  wish  of  the  Government  to  concentrate  the 
fur-trade  within  its  boundaries  in  the  hands  of 
its  own  citizens;  and  he  now  offered,  if  national 
aid  or  protection  should  be  afforded,  "to  turn 
the  whole  of  the  trade  into  American  channels." 
He  was  invited  to  unfold  his  plans,  and  they 
were  warmly  approved,  but,  we  believe,  little 
more.  The  countenance  of  the  Government  was, 
nevertheless,  of  much  importance,  and,  in  1809, 
he  procured,  from  the  legislature  of  New  York, 
a  charter,  incorporating  a  company,  under  the 
name  of  the  "  American  Fur  Company,"  with 
a  capital  of  one  million  of  dollars,  and  the  privi- 
209 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

lege  of  increasing  it  to  two.  He  himself  con- 
stituted the  Company,  and  furnished  the  capital. 
The  board  of  directors  was  merely  nominal,  and 
the  whole  business  was  conducted  with  his  own 
resources,  and  according  to  his  own  will. 

We  here  pass  over  Mr.  Irving' s  lucid,  although 
brief  account  of  the  fur-trade  in  the  Pacific,  of 
Russian  and  American  enterprise  on  the  north- 
western coast,  and  of  the  discovery  by  Captain 
Gray,  in  1792,  of  the  mouth  of  the  river  Colum- 
bia. He  proceeds  to  speak  of  Capt.  Jonathan 
Carver,  of  the  British  provincial  army.  In  1763, 
shortly  after  the  acquisition  of  the  Canadas  by 
Great  Britain,  this  gentleman  projected  a  jour- 
ney across  the  continent,  between  the  forty-third 
and  forty-sixth  degrees  of  northern  latitude,  to 
the  shores  of  the  Pacific.  His  objects  were  "  to 
ascertain  the  breadth  of  the  continent  at  its  broad- 
est part,  and  to  determine  on  some  place  on  the 
shores  of  the  Pacific,  where  government  might 
establish  a  post  to  facilitate  the  discovery  of  a 
Northwest  passage,  or  a  communication  between 
Hudson's  Bay  and  the  Pacific  Ocean."  He 
failed  twice  in  individual  attempts  to  accomplish 
this  journey.  In  1774,  Richard  Whitworth,  a 
member  of  Parliament,  came  into  this  scheme 
of  Captain  Carver's.  These  two  gentlemen  de- 
termined to  take  with  them  fifty  or  sixty  men, 
artificers  and  mariners,  to  proceed  up  one  of  the 
branches  of  the  Missouri,  find  the  source  of  the 


IRVING'S  "ASTORIA" 

Oregon  (the  Columbia),  and  sail  down  the  river 
to  its  mouth.  Here,  a  fort  was  to  be  erected,  and 
the  vessels  built  necessary  to  carry  into  execution 
their  proposed  discoveries  by  sea.  The  British 
Government  sanctioned  the  plan,  and  every- 
thing was  ready  for  the  undertaking,  when  the 
American  Revolution  prevented  it. 

The  expedition  of  Sir  Alexander  Mackenzie 
is  well  known.  In  1793,  he  crossed  the  conti- 
nent, and  reached  the  Pacific  Ocean  in  latitude 
52°  20'  48".  In  latitude  52°  30',  he  partially  de- 
scended a  river  flowing  to  the  south,  and  which 
he  erroneously  supposed  to  be  the  Columbia. 
Some  years  afterwards,  he  published  an  account 
of  his  journey,  and  suggested  the  policy  of  open- 
ing an  intercourse  between  the  Atlantic  and 
Pacific  oceans,  and  forming  regular  establish- 
ments "  through  the  interior  and  at  both  ex- 
tremes, as  well  as  along  the  coasts  and  islands." 
Thus,  he  thought  the  entire  command  of  the  fur 
trade  of  North  America  might  be  obtained  from 
latitude  48°  north  to  the  pole,  excepting  that  por- 
tion held  by  the  Russians.  As  to  the  "  American 
adventurers  "  along  the  coast,  he  spoke  of  them 
as  entitled  to  but  little  consideration.  "  They 
would  instantly  disappear,"  he  said,  "before  a 
well-regulated  trade."  Owing  to  the  jealousy 
existing  between  the  Hudson's  Bay  and  North- 
west Company,  this  idea  of  Sir  Alexander  Mac- 
kenzie's was  never  carried  into  execution. 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

The  successful  attempt  of  Messieurs  Lewis 
and  Clarke  was  accomplished,  it  will  be  remem- 
bered, in  1804.  Their  course  was  that  proposed 
by  Captain  Carver  in  1774.  They  passed  up  the 
Missouri  to  its  head  waters,  crossed  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  discovered  the  source  of  the  Colum- 
bia, and  followed  that  river  down  to  its  mouth. 
Here  they  spent  the  winter,  and  retraced  their 
steps  in  the  spring.  Their  reports  declared  it 
practicable  to  establish  a  line  of  communication 
across  the  continent,  and  first  inspired  Mr.  Astor 
with  the  design  of  "  grasping  with  his  individual 
hands  this  great  enterprise,  which,  for  years, 
had  been  dubiously  yet  desirously  contemplated 
by  powerful  associations  and  maternal  govern- 
ments." 

His  scheme  was  gradually  matured.  Its  main 
features  were  as  follows.  A  line  of  trading  posts 
was  to  be  established  along  the  Missouri  and 
Columbia,  to  the  mouth  of  the  latter,  where  was 
to  be  founded  the  chief  mart.  On  all  the  tribu- 
tary streams  throughout  this  immense  route  were 
to  be  situated  inferior  posts  trading  directly  with 
the  Indians  for  their  peltries.  All  these  posts 
would  draw  upon  the  mart  at  the  Columbia  for 
their  supplies  of  goods,  and  would  send  thither 
the  furs  collected.  At  this  latter  place  also,  were 
to  be  built  and  fitted  out  coasting  vessels,  for  the 
purpose  of  trading  along  the  northwest  coast, 
returning  with  the  proceeds  of  their  voyages  to 


IRVING'S  "  ASTORIA  " 

the  same  general  rendezvous.  In  this  manner, 
the  whole  Indian  trade,  both  of  the  coast  and  the 
interior,  would  converge  to  one  point.  To  this 
point,  in  continuation  of  his  plan,  Mr.  Astor 
proposed  to  dispatch,  every  year,  a  ship  with  the 
necessary  supplies.  She  would  receive  the  pel- 
tries collected,  carry  them  to  Canton,  there  in- 
vest the  proceeds  in  merchandise,  and  return  to 
New  York. 

Another  point  was  also  to  be  attended  to.  In 
coasting  to  the  northwest,  the  ship  would  be 
brought  into  contact  with  the  Russian  Fur  Com- 
pany's establishments  in  that  quarter;  and,  as 
a  rivalry  might  ensue,  it  was  politic  to  conciliate 
the  good-will  of  that  body.  It  depended  chiefly, 
for  its  supplies,  upon  transient  trading  vessels 
from  the  United  States.  The  owners  of  these 
vessels,  having  nothing  beyond  their  individual 
interests  to  consult,  made  no  scruple  of  furnish- 
ing the  natives  with  fire-arms,  and  were  thus  pro- 
ductive of  much  injury.  To  this  effect,  the 
Russian  Government  had  remonstrated  with  the 
United  States,  urging  to  have  the  traffic  in  arms 
prohibited  —  but,  no  municipal  law  being  in- 
fringed, our  Government  could  not  interfere. 
Still,  it  was  anxious  not  to  offend  Russia,  and 
applied  to  Mr.  Astor  for  information  as  to  the 
means  of  remedying  the  evil,  knowing  him  to  be 
well  versed  in  all  the  concerns  of  the  trade  in 
question.  This  application  suggested  to  him  the 
213 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

idea  of  paying  a  regular  visit  to  the  Russian  set- 
tlements with  his  annual  ship.  Thus,  being  kept 
regularly  in  supplies,  they  would  be  independent 
of  the  casual  traders,  who  would,  consequently, 
be  excluded  from  the  coast.  This  whole  scheme 
Mr.  Astor  communicated  to  President  Jeffer- 
son, soliciting  the  countenance  of  Government. 
The  cabinet  "joined  in  warm  approbation  of 
the  plan,  and  held  out  assurance  of  every  protec- 
tion that  could,  consistently  with  general  policy, 
be  afforded." 

In  speaking  of  the  motives  which  actuated 
Mr.  Astor  in  an  enterprise  so  extensive,  Mr. 
Irving,  we  are  willing  to  believe,  has  done  that 
high-minded  gentleman  no  more  than  the  sim- 
plest species  of  justice.  "  He  was  already,"  says 
our  author,  "wealthy  beyond  the  ordinary  de- 
sires of  man,  but  he  now  aspired  to  that  honor- 
able fame  which  is  awarded  to  men  of  similar 
scope  of  mind,  who,  by  their  great  commercial 
enterprises,  have  enriched  nations,  peopled  wil- 
dernesses, and  extended  the  bounds  of  empire. 
He  considered  his  projected  establishment  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Columbia,  as  the  emporium  to  an 
immense  commerce ;  as  a  colony  that  would  form 
the  germ  of  a  wide  civilization;  that  would,  in 
fact,  carry  the  American  population  across  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  and  spread  it  along  the  shores 
of  the  Pacific,  as  it  already  animated  the  shores 
of  the  Atlantic." 


IRVING'S  "ASTORIA" 

A  few  words  in  relation  to  the  Northwest 
Company.  This  body,  following  out  in  part  the 
suggestion  of  Sir  Alexander  Mackenzie,  had  al- 
ready established  a  few  trading  posts  on  the 
coast  of  the  Pacific,  in  a  region  lying  about  two 
degrees  north  of  the  Columbia  —  thus  throwing 
itself  between  the  Russian  and  American  ter- 
ritories. They  would  contend  with  Mr.  Astor 
at  an  immense  disadvantage,  of  course.  They 
had  no  good  post  for  the  receipt  of  supplies  by 
sea;  and  must  get  them  with  great  risk,  trouble, 
and  expense,  over  land.  Their  peltries  also 
would  have  to  be  taken  home  the  same  way  — 
for  they  were  not  at  liberty  to  interfere  with  the 
East  India  Company's  monopoly,  by  shipping 
them  directly  to  China.  Mr.  Astor  would  there- 
fore greatly  undersell  them  in  that,  the  principal 
market.  Still,  as  any  competition  would  prove 
detrimental  to  both  parties,  Mr.  Astor  made 
known  his  plans  to  the  Northwest  Company, 
proposing  to  interest  them  one-third  in  his  under- 
taking. The  British  Company,  however,  had 
several  reasons  for  declining  the  proposition  — 
not  the  least  forcible  of  which,  we  presume,  was 
their  secret  intention  to  push  on  a  party  forth- 
with, and  forestall  their  rival  in  establishing  a 
settlement  at  the  mouth  of  the  Columbia. 

In  the  mean  time  Mr.  Astor  did  not  remain 
idle.  His  first  care  was  to  procure  proper  coad- 
jutors, and  he  was  induced  to  seek  them  princi- 
215 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

pally  from  among  such  clerks  of  the  Northwest 
Company  as  were  dissatisfied  with  their  situa- 
tion in  that  body  —  having  served  out  their 
probationary  term,  and  being  still,  through  want 
of  influence,  without  a  prospect  of  speedy  pro- 
motion. From  among  these  (generally  men  of 
capacity  and  experience  in  their  particular  busi- 
ness), Mr.  Astor  obtained  the  services  of  Mr. 
Alexander  M'Kay  (who  had  accompanied  Sir 
Alexander  Mackenzie  in  both  of  his  expedi- 
tions), Mr.  Donald  M'Kenzie,  and  Mr.  Duncan 
M'Dougal.  Mr.  Wilson  Price  Hunt,  a  native 
citizen  of  New  Jersey,  and  a  gentleman  of  great 
worth,  was  afterwards  selected  by  Mr.  Astor  as 
his  chief  agent,  and  as  the  representative  of  him- 
self at  the  contemplated  establishment.  In  June, 
1810,  "  articles  of  agreement  were  entered  into 
between  Mr.  Astor  and  these  four  gentlemen, 
acting  for  themselves,  and  for  the  several  per- 
sons who  had  already  agreed  to  become,  or  should 
thereafter  become,  associated  under  the  firm  of 
'  The  Pacific  Fur  Company.'  "  This  agreement 
stipulated  that  Mr.  Astor  was  to  be  the  head  of 
the  Company,  to  manage  its  affairs  at  New  York, 
and  to  furnish  everything  requisite  for  the  en- 
terprise at  first  cost  and  charges,  provided  an  ad- 
vance of  more  than  four  hundred  thousand  dol- 
lars should  not  at  any  time  be  involved.  The 
stock  was  to  consist  of  a  hundred  shares,  Mr. 
Astor  taking  fifty,  the  rest  being  divided  among 
216 


IRVING'S  "ASTORIA" 

the  other  partners  and  their  associates.  A  gen- 
eral meeting  was  to  be  held  annually  at  Colum- 
bia River,  where  absent  members  might  vote  by 
proxy.  The  association  was  to  continue  twenty 
years  —  but  might  be  dissolved  within  the  first 
five  years,  if  found  unprofitable.  For  these  five 
years  Mr.  Astor  agreed  to  bear  all  the  loss  that 
might  be  incurred.  An  agent,  appointed  for  a 
like  term,  was  to  reside  at  the  main  establish- 
ment, and  Mr.  Hunt  was  the  person  first  se- 
lected. 

Mr.  Astor  determined  to  begin  his  enterprise 
with  two  expeditions  —  one  by  sea,  the  other  by 
land.  The  former  was  to  carry  out  everything 
necessary  for  the  establishment  of  a  fortified  post 
at  the  mouth  of  the  Columbia.  The  latter,  under 
the  conduct  of  Mr.  Hunt,  was  to  proceed  up  the 
Missouri  and  across  the  Rocky  Mountains  to 
the  same  point.  In  the  course  of  this  overland 
journey,  the  most  practicable  line  of  communica- 
tion would  be  explored,  and  the  best  situations 
noted  for  the  location  of  trading  rendezvous. 
Following  Mr.  Irving  in  our  brief  summary  of 
his  narrative,  we  will  now  give  some  account  of 
the  first  of  these  expeditions. 

A  ship  was  provided  called  the  "  Tonquin," 
of  two  hundred  and  ninety  tons,  with  ten  guns, 
and  twenty  men.  Lieutenant  Jonathan  Thorn 
of  the  United  States  navy,  being  on  leave  of  ab- 
sence, received  the  command.  He  was  a  man 
217 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

of  courage,  and  had  distinguished  himself  in  the 
Tripolitan  war.  Four  of  the  partners  went  in 
the  ship  —  M'Kay  and  M'Dougal,  of  whom  we 
have  already  spoken,  and  Messieurs  David  and 
Robert  Stuart,  new  associates  in  the  firm.  M'- 
Dougal was  empowered  to  act  as  the  proxy  of 
Mr.  Astor  in  the  absence  of  Mr.  Hunt.  Twelve 
clerks  were  also  of  the  party.  These  were  bound 
to  the  service  of  the  company  for  five  years,  and 
were  to  receive  one  hundred  dollars  a  year,  pay- 
able at  the  expiration  of  the  term,  with  an  annual 
equipment  of  clothing  to  the  amount  of  forty 
dollars.  By  promises  of  future  promotion,  their 
interests  were  identified  with  those  of  Mr.  Astor. 
Thirteen  Canadian  voyageurs,  and  several  ar- 
tisans, completed  the  ship's  company.  On  the 
eighth  of  September,  1810,  the  "  Tonquin  "  put 
to  sea.  Of  her  voyage  to  the  mouth  of  the  Co- 
lumbia, Mr.  Irving  has  given  a  somewhat  ludi- 
crous account.  Thorn,  the  stern,  straightfor- 
ward officer  of  the  navy,  having  few  ideas  be- 
yond those  of  duty  and  discipline,  and  looking 
with  supreme  contempt  upon  the  motley  "  lub- 
bers "  who  formed  the  greater  part  of  his  com- 
pany, is  painted  with  the  easy  yet  spirited  pen- 
cil of  an  artist  indeed;  while  M'Dougal,  the 
shrewd  Scotch  partner,  bustling,  yet  pompous, 
and  impressed  with  lofty  notions  of  his  own  im- 
portance as  proxy  for  Mr.  Astor,  is  made  as 
supremely  ridiculous  as  possible,  with  as  little 
218 


IRVING'S  "  ASTORIA  " 

apparent  effort  as  can  well  be  imagined;  —  the 
portraits,  however,  carry  upon  their  faces  the 
evidence  of  their  own  authenticity.  The  voyage 
is  prosecuted  amid  a  series  of  petty  quarrels, 
and  cross  purposes,  between  the  captain  and  his 
crew,  and,  occasionally,  between  Mr.  M'Kay  and 
Mr.  M'Dougal.  The  contests  between  the  two 
latter  gentlemen  were  brief,  it  appears,  although 
violent.  "  Within  fifteen  minutes,"  says  Cap- 
tain Thorn  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Astor,  "  they  would 
be  caressing  each  other  like  children."  The 
"  Tonquin  "  doubled  Cape  Horn  on  Christmas 
day,  arrived  at  Owyhee  on  the  eleventh  of  Febru- 
ary, took  on  board  fresh  provisions,  sailed  again 
with  twelve  Sandwich  Islanders  on  the  twenty- 
eighth,  and  on  the  twenty-second  of  March  ar- 
rived at  the  mouth  of  the  Columbia.  In  seek- 
ing a  passage  across  the  bar,  a  boat  and  nine 
men  were  lost  among  the  breakers.  On  the  way 
from  Owyhee  a  violent  storm  occurred;  and  the 
bickerings  still  continued  between  the  partners 
and  the  captain  —  the  latter,  indeed,  grievously 
suspecting  the  former  of  a  design  to  depose 
him. 

The  Columbia,  for  about  forty  miles  from  its 
mouth,  is,  strictly  speaking,  an  estuary,  varying 
in  breadth  from  three  to  seven  miles,  and  in- 
dented by  deep  bays.  Shoals  and  other  obstruc- 
tions render  the  navigation  dangerous.  Leav- 
ing this  broad  portion  of  the  stream  in  the  prog- 
219 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

ress  upwards,  we  find  the  mouth  of  the  river 
proper  —  which  is  about  half  a  mile  wide.  The 
entrance  to  the  estuary  from  sea  is  bounded  on 
the  south  by  a  long,  low,  and  sandy  beach  stretch- 
ing into  the  ocean,  and  called  Point  Adams.  On 
the  northern  side  of  the  frith  is  Cape  Disap- 
pointment, a  steep  promontory.  Immediately 
east  of  this  cape  is  Baker's  Bay,  and  within  this 
the  "  Tonquin  "  came  to  anchor. 

Jealousies  still  continued  between  the  captain 
and  the  worthy  M'Dougal,  who  could  come  to 
no  agreement  in  regard  to  the  proper  location 
for  the  contemplated  establishment.  On  April 
the  fifth,  without  troubling  himself  farther  with 
the  opinions  of  his  coadjutors,  Mr.  Thorn  landed 
in  Baker's  Bay,  and  began  operations.  At  this 
summary  proceeding,  the  partners  were,  of 
course,  in  high  dudgeon,  and  an  open  quarrel 
seemed  likely  to  ensue,  to  the  serious  detriment 
of  the  enterprise.  These  difficulties,  however, 
were  at  length  arranged,  and  finally,  on  the 
twelfth  of  April,  a  settlement  was  commenced 
at  a  point  of  land  called  Point  George,  on  the 
southern  shore  of  the  frith.  Here  was  a  good 
harbor,  where  vessels  of  two  hundred  tons  might 
anchor  within  fifty  yards  of  the  shore.  In  honor 
of  the  chief  partner,  the  new  post  received  the 
title  of  Astoria.  After  much  delay,  the  portion 
of  the  cargo  destined  for  the  post  was  landed, 
and  the  "  Tonquin  "  left  free  to  proceed  on  her 
220 


IRVING'S  "ASTORIA" 

voyage.  She  was  to  coast  to  the  north,  to  trade 
for  peltries  at  the  different  harbors,  and  to  touch 
at  Astoria  on  her  return  in  the  autumn.  Mr. 
M'Kay  went  in  her  as  supercargo,  and  a  Mr. 
Lewis  as  ship's  clerk.  On  the  morning  of  the 
fifth  of  June  she  stood  out  to  sea,  the  whole  num- 
ber of  persons  on  board  amounting  to  three  and 
twenty.  In  one  of  the  outer  bays  Captain  Thorn 
procured  the  services  of  an  Indian  named  Lam- 
azee,  who  had  already  made  two  voyages  along 
the  coast,  and  who  agreed  to  accompany  him  as 
interpreter.  In  a  few  days  the  ship  arrived  at 
Vancouver's  Island,  and  came  to  anchor  in  the 
harbor  of  Neweetee,  much  against  the  advice  of 
the  Indian,  who  warned  Captain  Thorn  of  the 
perfidious  character  of  the  natives.  The  result 
was  the  merciless  butchery  of  the  whole  crew, 
with  the  exception  of  the  interpreter  and  Mr. 
Lewis,  the  ship's  clerk.  The  latter,  finding  him- 
self mortally  wounded  and  without  companions, 
blew  up  the  ship  and  perished  with  more  than  a 
hundred  of  the  enemy.  Lamazee,  getting  among 
the  Indians,  escaped,  and  was  the  means  of  bear- 
ing the  news  of  the  disaster  to  Astoria.  In  re- 
lating at  length  the  thrilling  details  of  this 
catastrophe,  Mr.  Irving  takes  occasion  to  com- 
ment on  the  headstrong,  although  brave  and 
strictly  honorable  character  of  Captain  Thorn. 
The  danger  and  folly,  on  the  part  of  agents,  in 
disobeying  the  matured  instructions  of  those 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

who  deliberately  plan  extensive  enterprises,  such 
as  that  of  Mr.  Astor,  is  also  justly  and  forcibly 
shown.  The  misfortune  here  spoken  of  arose, 
altogether,  from  a  disregard  of  Mr.  Astor's  often 
repeated  advice  —  to  admit  but  few  Indians  on 
board  the  "  Tonquin  "  at  one  time.  Her  loss 
was  a  serious  blow  to  the  infant  establishment 
at  Astoria.  To  this  post  let  us  now  return. 

The  natives  inhabiting  the  borders  of  the  es- 
tuary were  divided  into  four  tribes,  of  which  the 
Chinooks  were  the  principal.  Comcomly,  a  one- 
eyed  Indian,  was  their  chief.  These  tribes  re- 
sembled each  other  in  nearly  every  respect,  and 
were,  no  doubt,  of  a  common  stock.  They  lived 
chiefly  by  fishing  —  the  Columbia  and  its  tribu- 
tary streams  abounding  in  fine  salmon,  and  a 
variety  of  other  fish.  A  trade  in  peltries,  but 
to  no  great  amount,  was  immediately  commenced 
and  carried  on.  Much  disquiet  was  occasioned 
at  the  post  by  a  rumor  among  the  Indians  that 
thirty  white  men  had  appeared  on  the  banks  of 
the  Columbia,  and  were  building  houses  at  the 
second  rapids.  It  was  feared  that  these  were 
an  advance  party  of  the  Northwest  Company 
endeavoring  to  seize  upon  the  upper  parts  of  the 
river,  and  thus  forestall  Mr.  Astor  in  the  trade 
of  the  surrounding  country.  Bloody  feuds  in 
this  case  might  be  anticipated,  such  as  had  pre- 
vailed between  rival  Companies  in  former  times. 
The  intelligence  of  the  Indians  proved  true  — 
222 


IRVING'S  "ASTORIA" 

the  "  Northwest "  had  erected  a  trading-house  on 
the  Spokan  River,  which  falls  into  the  north 
branch  of  the  Columbia.  The  Astorians  could 
do  little  to  oppose  them  in  their  present  reduced 
state  as  to  numbers.  It  was  resolved,  however, 
to  advance  a  counter-check  to  the  post  on  the 
Spokan,  and  Mr.  David  Stuart  prepared  to  set 
out  for  this  purpose  with  eight  men  and  a  small 
assortment  of  goods.  On  the  fifteenth  of  July, 
when  this  expedition  was  about  starting,  a  canoe, 
manned  with  nine  white  men,  and  bearing  the 
British  flag,  entered  the  harbor.  They  proved 
to  be  the  party  despatched  by  the  rival  Company 
to  anticipate  Mr.  Astor  in  the  settlement  at  the 
mouth  of  the  river.  Mr.  David  Thompson,  their 
leader,  announced  himself  as  a  partner  of  the 
"  Northwest "  —  but  otherwise  gave  a  very 
peaceable  account  of  himself.  It  appears,  how- 
ever, from  information  subsequently  derived 
from  other  sources,  that  he  had  hurried  with  a 
desperate  haste  across  the  mountains,  calling  at 
all  the  Indian  villages  in  his  march,  presenting 
them  with  British  flags,  and  "  proclaiming  for- 
mally that  he  took  possession  of  the  country  for 
the  Northwest  Company,  and  in  the  name  of  the 
king  of  Great  Britain."  His  plan  was  defeated, 
it  seems,  by  the  desertion  of  a  great  portion  of 
his  followers,  and  it  was  thought  probable  that  he 
now  merely  descended  the  river  with  a  view  of 
reconnoitring.  M'Dougal  treated  the  gentlemen 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

with  great  kindness,  and  supplied  them  with 
goods  and  provisions  for  their  journey  back 
across  the  mountains  —  this  much  against  the 
wishes  of  Mr.  David  Stuart,  "  who  did  not  think 
the  object  of  their  visit  entitled  them  to  any 
favor."  A  letter  for  Mr.  Astor  was  intrusted 
to  Thompson. 

On  the  twenty-third  of  July,  the  party  for  the 
region  of  the  Spokan  set  out,  and  after  a  voyage 
of  much  interest,  succeeded  in  establishing  the 
first  interior  trading-post  of  the  Company.  It 
was  situated  on  a  point  of  land  about  three  miles 
long  and  two  broad,  formed  by  the  junction  of 
the  Oakinagan  with  the  Columbia.  In  the  mean 
time  the  Indians  near  Astoria  began  to  evince 
a  hostile  disposition,  and  a  reason  for  this  altered 
demeanor  was  soon  after  found  in  the  report  of 
the  loss  of  the  "  Tonquin."  Early  in  August  the 
settlers  received  intelligence  of  her  fate.  They 
now  found  themselves  in  a  perilous  situation,  a 
mere  handful  of  men,  on  a  savage  coast,  and  sur- 
rounded by  barbarous  enemies.  From  their  di- 
lemma they  were  relieved,  for  the  present,  by 
the  ingenuity  of  M'Dougal.  The  natives  had 
a  great  dread  of  the  small-pox,  which  had  ap- 
peared among  them  a  few  years  before,  sweep- 
ing off  entire  tribes.  They  believed  it  an  evil 
either  inflicted  upon  them  by  the  Great  Spirit, 
or  brought  among  them  by  the  white  men.  Seiz- 
ing upon  this  latter  idea,  M'Dougal  assembled 


IRVING'S  "ASTORIA" 

several  of  the  chieftains  whom  he  believed  to  be 
inimical,  and  informing  them  that  he  had  heard 
of  the  treachery  of  their  northern  brethren  in 
regard  to  the  "  Tonquin,"  produced  from  his 
pocket  a  small  bottle.  "  The  white  men  among 
you,"  said  he,  "  are  few  in  number,  it  is  true,  but 
they  are  mighty  in  medicine.  See  here!  In  this 
bottle  I  hold  the  small-pox  safely  corked  up;  I 
have  but  to  draw  the  cork  and  let  loose  the  pesti- 
lence, to  sweep  man,  woman,  and  child  from  the 
face  of  the  earth!"  The  chiefs  were  dismayed. 
They  represented  to  the  "  Great  Small-Pox 
Chief  "  that  they  were  the  firmest  friends  of  the 
white  men,  that  they  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
villains  who  murdered  the  crew  of  the  "  Ton- 
quin,"  and  that  it  would  be  unjust,  in  uncorking 
the  bottle,  to  destroy  the  innocent  with  the  guilty. 
M'Dougal  was  convinced.  He  promised  not 
to  uncork  it  until  some  overt  act  should  compel 
him  to  do  so.  In  this  manner  tranquillity  was 
restored  to  the  settlement.  A  large  house  was 
now  built,  and  the  frame  of  a  schooner  put  to- 
gether. She  was  named  the  "  Dolly,"  and  was 
the  first  American  vessel  launched  on  the  coast. 
But  our  limits  will  not  permit  us  to  follow  too 
minutely  the  details  of  the  enterprise.  The  ad- 
venturers kept  up  their  spirits,  sending  out  oc- 
casional foraging  parties  in  the  "Dolly,"  and 
looking  forward  to  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Hunt. 
So  wore  away  the  year  1811  at  the  little  post 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

of  Astoria.    We  now  come  to  speak  of  the  ex- 
pedition by  land. 

This,  it  will  be  remembered,  was  to  be  con- 
ducted by  Mr.  Wilson  Price  Hunt,  a  native  of 
New  Jersey.  He  is  represented  as  scrupulously 
upright,  of  amiable  disposition,  and  agreeable 
manners.  He  had  never  been  in  the  heart  of  the 
wilderness,  but,  having  been  for  some  time  en- 
gaged in  commerce  at  St.  Louis,  furnishing  In- 
dian traders  with  goods,  he  had  acquired  much 
knowledge  of  the  trade  at  second  hand.  Mr. 
Donald  M'Kenzie,  another  partner,  was  asso- 
ciated with  him.  He  had  been  ten  years  in  the 
interior,  in  the  service  of  the  Northwest  Com- 
pany, and  had  much  practical  experience  in  all 
Indian  concerns.  In  July,  1810,  the  two  gentle- 
men repaired  to  Montreal,  where  everything  req- 
uisite to  the  expedition  could  be  procured. 
Here  they  met  with  many  difficulties  —  some  of 
which  were  thrown  in  their  way  by  their  rivals. 
Having  succeeded,  however,  in  laying  in  a  sup- 
ply of  ammunition,  provisions,  and  Indian  goods, 
they  embarked  all  on  board  a  large  boat,  and, 
with  a  very  inefficient  crew,  the  best  to  be  pro- 
cured, took  their  departure  from  St.  Anne's, 
near  the  extremity  of  the  island  of  Montreal. 
Their  course  lay  up  the  Ottawa,  and  along  a 
range  of  small  lakes  and  rivers.  On  the  twenty- 
second  of  July,  they  arrived  at  Mackinaw,  situ- 
ated on  Mackinaw  Island,  at  the  confluence  of 
226 


IRVING'S  "ASTORIA" 

Lakes  Huron  and  Michigan.  Here  it  was  neces- 
sary to  remain  some  time  to  complete  the  assort- 
ment of  Indian  goods,  and  engage  more  voy- 
ageurs.  While  waiting  to  accomplish  these  ob- 
jects, Mr.  Hunt  was  joined  by  Mr.  Ramsay 
Crooks,  a  gentleman  whom  he  had  invited,  by 
letter,  to  engage  as  a  partner  in  the  expedition. 
He  was  a  native  of  Scotland,  had  served  under 
the  Northwest  Company,  and  been  engaged  in 
private  trading  adventures  among  the  various 
tribes  of  the  Missouri.  Mr.  Crooks  represented, 
in  forcible  terms,  the  dangers  to  be  apprehended 
from  the  Indians  —  especially  the  Blackf eet  and 
Sioux  —  and  it  was  agreed  to  increase  the  num- 
ber of  the  party  to  sixty  upon  arriving  at  St. 
Louis.  Thirty  was  its  strength  upon  leaving 
Mackinaw.  This  occurred  on  the  twelfth  of 
August.  The  expedition  pursued  the  usual  route 
of  the  fur-trader  —  by  Green  Bay,  Fox  and 
Wisconsin  rivers,  to  Prairie  du  Chien,  and  thence 
down  the  Mississippi  to  St.  Louis,  where  they 
landed  on  the  third  of  September.  Here,  Mr. 
Hunt  met  with  some  opposition  from  an  associa- 
tion called  the  Missouri  Fur  Company,  and  es- 
pecially from  its  leading  partner,  a  Mr.  Manuel 
Lisa.  This  Company  had  a  capital  of  about 
forty  thousand  dollars,  and  employed  about  two 
hundred  and  fifty  men.  Its  object  was  to  es- 
tablish posts  along  the  upper  part  of  the  river, 
and  monopolize  the  trade.  Mr.  Hunt  proceeded 
227 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

to  strengthen  himself  against  competition.  He 
secured  to  Mr.  Astor  the  services  of  Mr.  Joseph 
Miller.  This  gentleman  had  been  an  officer  of 
the  United  States  Army,  but  had  resigned  on  be- 
ing refused  a  furlough,  and  taken  to  trading  with 
the  Indians.  He  joined  the  association  as  a 
partner;  and,  on  account  of  his  experience  and 
general  acquirements,  Mr.  Hunt  considered  him 
a  valuable  coadjutor.  Several  boatmen  and  hun- 
ters were  also  now  enlisted,  but  not  until  after 
a  delay  of  several  weeks.  This  delay,  and  the 
previous  difficulties  at  Montreal  and  Mackinaw, 
had  thrown  Mr.  Hunt  much  behind  his  original 
calculations,  so  that  he  found  it  would  be  impos- 
sible to  effect  his  voyage  up  the  Missouri  during 
the  present  season.  There  was  every  likelihood 
that  the  river  would  be  closed  before  the  party 
,  could  reach  its  upper  waters.  To  winter,  how- 
ever, at  St.  Louis,  would  be  expensive.  Mr. 
Hunt,  therefore,  determined  to  push  up  on  his 
way  as  far  as  possible,  to  some  point  where  game 
might  be  found  in  abundance,  and  there  take  up 
his  quarters  until  spring.  On  the  twenty-first  of 
October,  he  set  out.  The  party  were  distributed 
in  three  boats  —  two  large  Schenectady  barges, 
and  a  keel  boat.  By  the  sixteenth  of  November, 
they  reached  the  mouth  of  the  Nodowa,  a  dis- 
tance of  four  hundred  and  fifty  miles,  where  they 
set  up  their  winter  quarters.  Here,  Mr.  Robert 
M'Lellan,  at  the  invitation  of  Mr.  Hunt,  joined 


IRVING'S  "ASTORIA" 

the  association  as  a  partner.  He  was  a  man 
of  vigorous  frame,  of  restless  and  imperious 
temper,  and  had  distinguished  himself  as  a  par- 
tisan under  General  Wayne.  John  Day  also 
joined  the  company  at  this  place  —  a  tall  and 
athletic  hunter  from  the  backwoods  of  Virginia. 
Leaving  the  main  body  at  Nodowa,  Mr.  Hunt 
now  returned  to  St.  Louis  for  reinforcement. 
He  was  again  impeded  by  the  machinations  of 
the  Missouri  Fur  Company,  but  finally  succeeded 
in  enlisting  one  hunter,  some  voyageurs,  and  a 
Sioux  interpreter,  Pierre  Dorion.  With  these, 
after  much  difficulty,  he  got  back  to  the  encamp- 
ment on  the  seventeenth  of  April.  Soon  after 
this  period,  the  voyage  up  the  river  was  resumed. 
The  party  now  consisted  of  nearly  sixty  per- 
sons —  five  partners,  Hunt,  Crooks,  M'Kenzie, 
Miller,  and  M'Lellan;  one  clerk,  John  Reed; 
forty  Canadian  voyageurs;  and  several  hunters. 
They  embarked  in  four  boats,  one  of  wKich,  of  a 
large  size,  mounted  a  swivel  and  two  howitzers. 
We  do  not  intend,  of  course,  to  proceed  with 
our  travellers  throughout  the  vast  series  of  ad- 
venture encountered  in  their  passage  through  the 
wilderness.  To  the  curious  in  these  particulars, 
we  recommend  the  book  itself.  No  details  more 
intensely  exciting  are  to  be  found  in  any  work 
of  travels  within  our  knowledge.  At  times  full 
of  life  and  enjoying  the  whole  luxury  to  be  found 
in  the  career  of  the  hunter  —  at  times  suffering 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

every  extremity  of  fatigue,  hunger,  thirst,  anx- 
iety, terror,  and  despair  —  Mr.  Hunt  still  per- 
sisted in  his  journey,  and  finally  brought  it  to  a 
successful  termination.  A  bare  outline  of  the 
route  pursued  is  all  we  can  attempt. 

Proceeding  up  the  river,  our  party  arrived,  on 
the  twenty-eighth  of  April,  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Nebraska,  or  Platte,  the  largest  tributary  of  the 
Missouri,  and  about  six  hundred  miles  above  its 
junction  with  the  Mississippi.  They  now  halted 
for  two  days,  to  supply  themselves  with  oars  and 
poles  from  the  tough  wood  of  the  ash,  which  is 
not  to  be  found  higher  up  the  river.  Upon  the 
second  of  May,  two  of  the  hunters  insisted  upon 
abandoning  the  expedition,  and  returning  to  St. 
Louis.  On  the  tenth,  the  party  reached  the 
Omaha  village,  and  encamped  in  its  vicinity. 
This  village  is  about  eight  hundred  and  thirty 
miles  above  St.  Louis,  and  on  the  west  bank  of 
the  stream.  Three  men  here  deserted,  but  their 
place  was  luckily  supplied  by  three  others,  who 
were  prevailed  upon,  by  liberal  promises,  to  en- 
list. On  the  fifteenth,  Mr.  Hunt  left  Omaha, 
and  proceeded.  Not  long  afterwards,  a  canoe 
was  descried  navigated  by  two  white  men. 
They  proved  to  be  two  adventurers,  who,  for 
some  years  past,  had  been  hunting  and  trapping 
near  the  head  of  the  Missouri.  Their  names 
were  Jones  and  Carson.  They  were  now  on  their 
way  to  St.  Louis,  but  readily  abandoned  their 
230 


IRVING'S  "ASTORIA" 

voyage,  and  turned  their  faces  again  toward  the 
Rocky  Mountains.  On  the  twenty-third,  Mr. 
Hunt  received,  by  a  special  messenger,  a  letter 
from  Mr.  Manuel  Lisa,  the  leading  partner  of 
the  Missouri  Fur  Company,  and  the  gentleman 
who  rendered  him  so  many  disservices  at  St. 
Louis.  He  had  left  that  place,  with  a  large  party, 
three  weeks  after  Mr.  Hunt,  and,  having  heard 
rumors  of  hostile  intentions  on  the  part  of  the 
Sioux,  a  much-dreaded  tribe  of  Indians,  made 
great  exertions  to  overtake  him,  that  they  might 
pass  through  the  dangerous  part  of  the  river  to- 
gether. Mr.  Hunt,  however,  was  justly  suspi- 
cious of  the  Spaniard,  and  pushed  on.  At  the 
village  of  the  Ponchas,  about  a  league  south  of 
the  river  Quicourt,  he  stopped  only  long  enough 
to  procure  a  supply  of  dried  buffalo-meat.  On 
the  morning  of  the  twenty-fifth,  it  was  discovered 
that  Jones  and  Carson  had  deserted.  They  were 
pursued,  but  in  vain.  The  next  day,  three  white 
men  were  observed,  in  two  canoes,  descending 
the  river.  They  proved  to  be  three  Kentucky 
hunters  —  Edward  Robinson,  John  Hoback,  and 
Jacob  Rizner.  They  also  had  passed  several 
years  in  the  upper  wilderness,  and  were  now  on 
their  way  home,  but  willingly  turned  back  with 
the  expedition.  Information  derived  from  these 
recruits  induced  Mr.  Hunt  to  alter  his  route. 
Hitherto,  he  had  intended  to  follow  the  course 
pursued  by  Messieurs  Lewis  and  Clarke  —  as- 
231 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

cending  the  Missouri  to  its  forks,  and  thence,  by 
land,  across  the  mountains.  He  was  informed, 
however,  that,  in  so  doing,  he  would  have  to  pass 
through  the  country  of  the  Blackfeet,  a  savage 
tribe  of  Indians,  exasperated  against  the  whites, 
on  account  of  the  death  of  one  of  their  men  by 
the  hands  of  Captain  Lewis.  Robinson  advised  a 
more  southerly  route.  This  would  carry  them 
over  the  mountains  about  where  the  head  waters 
of  the  Platte  and  the  Yellowstone  take  their  rise, 
a  much  more  practicable  pass  than  that  of  Lewis 
and  Clarke.  To  this  council,  Mr.  Hunt  agreed, 
and  resolved  to  leave  the  Missouri  at  the  village 
of  the  Arickaras,  at  which  they  would  arrive  in 
a  few  days.  On  the  first  of  June,  they  reached 
"  the  great  bend  "  of  the  river,  which  here  winds 
for  about  thirty  miles  round  a  circular  peninsula, 
the  neck  of  which  is  not  above  two  thousand  yards 
across.  On  the  morning  of  June  the  third,  the 
party  were  overtaken  by  Lisa,  much  to  their  dis- 
satisfaction. The  meeting  was,  of  course,  far 
from  cordial,  but  an  outward  appearance  of 
civility  was  maintained  for  two  days.  On  the 
third,  a  quarrel  took  place,  which  was  near  ter- 
minating seriously.  It  was,  however,  partially 
adjusted,  and  the  rival  parties  coasted  along  op- 
posite sides  of  the  river,  in  sight  of  each  other. 
On  the  twelfth  of  June,  they  reached  the  village 
of  the  Arickaras,  between  the  forty-sixth  and 
forty-seventh  parallels  of  north  latitude,  and 


IRVING'S  "ASTORIA" 

about  fourteen  hundred  and  thirty  miles  above 
the  mouth  of  the  Missouri.  In  accomplishing 
thus  much  of  his  journey,  Mr.  Hunt  had  not 
failed  to  meet  with  a  crowd  of  difficulties,  at 
which  we  have  not  even  hinted.  He  was  fre- 
quently in  extreme  peril  from  large  bodies  of  the 
Sioux,  and,  at  one  time,  it  was  a  mere  accident 
alone  which  prevented  the  massacre  of  the  whole 
party. 

At  the  Arickara  village,  our  adventurers  were 
to  abandon  their  boats,  and  proceed  westward 
across  the  wilderness.  Horses  were  to  be  pur- 
chased from  the  Indians;  who  could  not,  how- 
ever, furnish  them  in  sufficient  numbers.  In  this 
dilemma,  Lisa  offered  to  purchase  the  boats,  now 
no  longer  of  use,  and  to  pay  for  them  in  horses, 
to  be  obtained  at  a  fort  belonging  to  the  Missouri 
Fur  Company,  and  situated  at  the  Mandan  vil- 
lages, about  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  further  up 
the  river.  A  bargain  was  made,  and  Messieurs 
Lisa  and  Crooks  went  for  the  horses,  returning 
with  them  in  about  a  fortnight.  At  the  Arickara 
village,  if  we  understand,  Mr.  Hunt  engaged 
the  services  of  one  Edward  Rose.  He  enlisted, 
as  interpreter  when  the  expedition  should  reach 
the  country  of  the  Upsarokas  or  Crow  Indians, 
among  whom  he  had  formerly  resided.  On  the 
eighteenth  of  July,  the  party  took  up  their  line 
of  march.  They  were  still  insufficiently  provided 
with  horses.  The  cavalcade  consisted  of  eighty- 
233 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

two,  most  of  them  heavily  laden  with  Indian 
goods,  beaver  traps,  ammunition,  and  provisions. 
Each  of  the  partners  was  mounted.  As  they 
took  leave  of  Arickara,  the  veterans  of  Lisa's 
company,  as  well  as  Lisa  himself,  predicted  the 
total  destruction  of  our  adventurers,  amid  the 
innumerable  perils  of  the  wilderness. 

To  avoid  the  Blackfeet  Indians,  a  ferocious 
and  implacable  tribe,  of  which  we  have  before 
spoken,  the  party  kept  a  southwestern  direction. 
This  route  took  them  across  some  of  the  tributary 
streams  of  the  Missouri,  and  through  immense 
prairies,  bounded  only  by  the  horizon.  Their 
progress  was,  at  first,  slow,  and,  Mr.  Crooks  fall- 
ing sick,  it  was  necessary  to  make  a  litter  for  him 
between  two  horses.  On  the  twenty-third  of  the 
month,  they  encamped  on  the  banks  of  a  little 
stream,  nicknamed  Big  River,  where  they  re- 
mained several  days,  meeting  with  a  variety  of 
adventures.  Among  other  things,  they  were  en- 
abled to  complete  their  supply  of  horses  from 
a  band  of  the  Cheyenne  Indians.  On  the  sixth 
of  August,  the  journey  was  resumed,  and  they 
soon  left  the  hostile  region  of  the  Sioux  behind 
them.  About  this  period,  a  plot  was  discovered 
on  the  part  of  the  interpreter,  Edward  Rose. 
This  villain  had  been  tampering  with  the  men, 
and  proposed,  upon  arriving  among  his  old 
acquaintances  the  Crows,  to  desert  to  the  savages 
with  as  much  booty  as  could  be  carried  off.  The 


IRVING'S  "  ASTORIA  " 

matter  was  adjusted,  however,  and  Mr.  Rose, 
through  the  ingenuity  of  Mr.  Hunt,  quietly  dis- 
missed. On  the  thirteenth,  Mr.  Hunt  varied  his 
course  to  the  westward,  a  route  which  soon 
brought  him  to  a  fork  of  the  Little  Missouri, 
and  upon  the  skirts  of  the  Black  Mountains. 
These  are  an  extensive  chain,  lying  about  a  hun- 
dred miles  east  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  stretch- 
ing northeasterly  from  the  south  fork  of  the 
river  Platte  to  the  great  north  bend  of  the  Mis- 
souri, and  dividing  the  waters  of  the  Missouri 
from  those  of  the  Mississippi  and  Arkansas. 
The  travellers  here  supposed  themselves  to  be 
about  two  hundred  and  fifty  miles  from  the 
village  of  the  Arickaras.  Their  more  serious 
troubles  now  commenced.  Hunger  and  thirst, 
with  the  minor  difficulties  of  grizzly  bears,  beset 
them  at  every  turn,  as  they  attempted  to  force  a 
passage  through  the  rugged  barriers  in  their 
path.  At  length,  they  emerged  upon  a  stream  of 
clear  water,  one  of  the  forks  of  Powder  River, 
and  once  more  beheld  wide  meadows  and  plenty 
of  buffalo.  They  ascended  this  stream  about 
eighteen  miles,  directing  their  march  towards  a 
lofty  mountain,  which  had  been  in  sight  since  the 
seventeenth.  They  reached  the  base  of  this 
mountain,  which  proved  to  be  a  spur  of  the  Rocky 
chain,  on  the  thirtieth,  having  now  come  about 
four  hundred  miles  since  leaving  Arickara. 
For  one  or  two  days,  they  endeavored  in  vain 
235 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

to  find  a  defile  in  the  mountains.  On  the  third 
of  September,  they  made  an  attempt  to  force  a 
passage  to  the  westward,  but  soon  became  en- 
tangled among  rocks  and  precipices,  which  set  all 
their  efforts  at  defiance.  They  were  now  too  in 
the  region  of  the  terrible  Upsarokas,  and  en- 
countered them  at  every  step.  They  met  also 
with  friendly  bands  of  Shoshonies  and  Flatheads. 
After  a  thousand  troubles,  they  made  some  way 
upon  their  journey.  On  the  ninth,  they  reached 
Wind  River,  a  stream  which  gives  its  name  to  a 
range  of  mountains  consisting  of  three  parallel 
chains,  eighty  miles  long  and  about  twenty-five 
broad.  "  One  of  its  peaks,"  says  our  author,  "  is 
probably  fifteen  thousand  feet  above  the  level  of 
the  sea."  For  five  days,  Mr.  Hunt  followed  up 
the  course  of  Wind  River,  crossing  and  recross- 
ing  it.  He  had  been  assured  by  the  three  hunters 
who  advised  him  to  strike  through  the  wilderness, 
that,  by  going  on  up  the  river,  and  crossing  a 
single  mountain  ridge,  he  would  come  upon  the 
head  waters  of  the  Columbia.  The  scarcity  of 
game,  however,  determined  him  to  pursue  a  dif- 
ferent course.  In  the  course  of  the  day,  after 
coming  to  this  resolve,  they  perceived  three  moun- 
tain peaks,  white  with  snow,  and  which  were 
recognized  by  the  hunters  as  rising  just  above  a 
fork  of  the  Columbia.  These  peaks  were  named 
the  Pilot  Knobs  by  Mr.  Hunt.  The  travellers 
continued  their  course  for  about  forty  miles  to 


IRVING'S  "ASTORIA" 

the  southwest,  and,  at  length,  found  a  river  flow- 
ing to  the  west.  This  proved  to  be  a  branch  of 
the  Colorado.  They  followed  its  current  for  fif- 
teen miles.  On  the  eighteenth,  abandoning  its 
main  course,  they  took  a  northwesterly  direction 
for  eight  miles,  and  reached  one  of  its  little 
tributaries,  issuing  from  the  bosom  of  the  moun- 
tains, and  running  through  green  meadows 
abounding  in  buffalo.  Here,  they  encamped  for 
several  days,  a  little  repose  being  necessary  for 
both  men  and  horses.  On  the  twenty-fourth,  the 
journey  was  resumed.  Fifteen  miles  brought 
them  to  a  stream  about  fifty  feet  wide,  which 
was  recognized  as  one  of  the  head  waters  of  the 
Columbia.  They  kept  along  it  for  two  days,  dur- 
ing which  it  gradually  swelled  into  a  river  of  some 
size.  At  length,  it  was  joined  by  another  cur- 
rent, and  both  united  swept  off  in  an  unimpeded 
stream,  which,  from  its  rapidity  and  turbulence, 
had  received  the  appellation  of  Mad  River. 
Down  this,  they  anticipated  an  uninterrupted 
voyage,  in  canoes,  to  the  point  of  their  ultimate 
destination —  but  their  hopes  were  very  far  from 
being  realized. 

The  partners  held  a  consultation.  The  three 
hunters  who  had  hitherto  acted  as  guides,  knew 
nothing  of  the  region  to  the  west  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains.  It  was  doubtful  whether  Mad  River 
could  be  navigated,  and  they  could  hardly  resolve 
to  abandon  their  horses  upon  an  uncertainty. 
237 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

The  vote,  nevertheless,  was  for  embarkation,  and 
they  proceeded  to  build  the  necessary  vessels.  In 
the  mean  time,  Mr.  Hunt,  having  now  reached 
the  head  waters  of  the  Columbia,  reputed  to 
abound  in  beaver,  turned  his  thoughts  to  the  main 
object  of  the  expedition.  Four  men,  Alexander 
Carson,  Louis  St.  Michel,  Pierre  Detaye,  and 
Pierre  Delaunay,  were  detached  from  the  ex- 
pedition, to  remain  and  trap  beaver  by  them- 
selves in  the  wilderness.  Having  collected  a  suf- 
ficient quantity  of  peltries,  they  were  to  bring 
them  to  the  depot,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Columbia, 
or  to  some  intermediate  post  to  be  established  by 
the  company.  These  trappers  had  just  departed, 
when  two  Snake  Indians  wandered  into  the 
camp,  and  declared  the  river  to  be  unnavigable. 
Scouts  sent  out  by  Mr.  Hunt  finally  confirmed 
this  report.  On  the  fourth  of  October,  therefore, 
the  encampment  was  broken  up,  and  the  party 
proceeded  to  search  for  a  post  in  possession  of  the 
Missouri  Fur  Company,  and  said  to  be  some- 
where in  the  neighborhood,  upon  the  banks  of 
another  branch  of  the  Columbia.  This  post  they 
found  without  much  difficulty.  It  was  deserted 
—  and  our  travellers  gladly  took  possession  of  the 
rude  buildings.  The  stream  here  found  was  up- 
wards of  a  hundred  yards  wide.  Canoes  were 
constructed  with  all  despatch.  In  the  mean  time, 
another  detachment  of  trappers  was  cast  loose  in 
the  wilderness.  These  were  Robinson,  Rizner, 
238 


IRVING'S  "ASTORIA" 

Hoback,  Carr,  and  Mr.  Joseph  Miller.  This 
latter,  it  will  be  remembered,  was  one  of  the 
partners  —  he  threw  up  his  share  in  the  expedi- 
tion, however,  for  a  life  of  more  perilous  adven- 
ture. On  the  eighteenth  of  the  month  (October) , 
fifteen  canoes  being  completed,  the  voyagers  em- 
barked, leaving  their  horses  in  charge  of  the  two 
Snake  Indians,  who  were  still  in  company. 

In  the  course  of  the  day,  the  party  arrived  at 
the  junction  of  the  stream  upon  which  they 
floated,  with  Mad  River.  Here  Snake  River 
commences  —  the  scene  of  a  thousand  disasters. 
After  proceeding  about  four  hundred  miles,  by 
means  of  frequent  portages,  and  beset  with  in- 
numerable difficulties  of  every  kind,  the  adven- 
turers were  brought  to  a  halt  by  a  series  of  fright- 
ful cataracts,  raging  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach, 
between  stupendous  ramparts  of  black  rock,  ris- 
ing more  than  two  hundred  feet  perpendicularly. 
This  place  they  called  the  Caldron  Linn.  Here, 
Antoine  Clappine,  one  of  the  voyageurs,  perished 
amid  the  whirlpools,  three  of  the  canoes  stuck  im- 
movably among  the  rocks,  and  one  was  swept 
away  with  all  the  weapons  and  effects  of  four  of 
the  boatmen. 

The  situation  of  the  party  was  now  lamentable, 
indeed  —  in  the  heart  of  an  unknown  wilderness, 
at  a  loss  what  route  to  take,  ignorant  of  their  dis- 
tance from  the  place  of  their  destination,  and  with 
no  human  being  near  them  from  whom  counsel 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

might  be  taken.  Their  stock  of  provisions  was  re- 
duced to  five  days'  allowance,  and  famine  stared 
them  in  the  face.  It  was,  therefore,  more  perilous 
to  keep  together  than  to  separate.  The  goods 
and  provisions,  except  a  small  supply  for  each 
man,  were  concealed  in  caches  (holes  dug  in  the 
earth),  and  the  party  were  divided  into  several 
small  detachments,  which  started  off  in  different 
directions,  keeping  the  mouth  of  the  Columbia  in 
view  as  their  ultimate  point  of  destination.  From 
this  post,  they  were  still  distant  nearly  a  thou- 
sand miles,  although  this  fact  was  unknown  to 
them  at  the  time. 

On  the  twenty-first  of  January,  after  a  series 
of  almost  incredible  adventures,  the  division  in 
which  Mr.  Hunt  enrolled  himself  struck  the 
waters  of  the  Columbia,  some  distance  below  the 
junction  of  its  two  great  branches,  Lewis  and 
Clarke  rivers,  and  not  far  from  the  influx  of  the 
.Wallah-Wallah.  Since  leaving  the  Caldron 
Linn,  they  had  toiled  two  hundred  and  forty 
miles,  through  snowy  wastes  and  precipitous 
mountains,  and  six  months  had  now  elapsed 
since  their  departure  from  the  Arickara  village, 
on  the  Missouri  —  their  whole  route  from  that 
point,  according  to  their  computation,  hav- 
ing been  seventeen  hundred  and  fifty-one  miles. 
Some  vague  intelligence  was  now  received  in 
regard  to  the  other  divisions  of  the  party, 
and  also  of  the  settlers  at  the  mouth  of  the 
240 


IRVING'S  "ASTORIA" 

Columbia.  On  the  thirty-first,  Mr.  Hunt  reached 
the  falls  of  the  river,  and  encamped  at  the 
village  of  Wish-Ram.  Here  were  heard  tid- 
ings of  the  massacre  on  board  the  "  Tonquin." 
On  the  fifth  of  February,  having  procured 
canoes  with  much  difficulty,  the  adventurers 
departed  from  Wish-Ram,  and,  on  the  fif- 
teenth, sweeping  round  an  intervening  cape, 
they  came  in  sight  of  the  long-desired  Astoria. 
Among  the  first  to  greet  them  on  their  landing 
were  some  of  their  old  comrades,  who  had  parted 
from  them  at  the  Caldron  Linn,  and  who  had 
reached  the  settlement  nearly  a  month  before. 
Mr.  Crooks  and  John  Day,  being  unable  to  get 
on,  had  been  left  with  some  Indians  in  the  wilder- 
ness—  they  afterwards  came  in.  Carriere,  a 
yoyageur,  who  was  also  abandoned  through  the 
sternest  necessity,  was  never  heard  of  more. 
Jean  Baptiste  Prevost,  likewise  a  voyageur, 
rendered  frantic  by  famine,  had  been  drowned 
in  the  Snake  River.  All  parties  had  suffered 
the  extremes  of  weariness,  privation,  and  peril. 
They  had  travelled  from  St.  Louis,  thirty-five 
hundred  miles.  Let  us  now  return  to  Mr.  Astor. 
As  yet  he  had  received  no  intelligence  from 
the  Columbia,  and  had  to  proceed  upon  the  sup- 
position that  all  had  gone  as  he  desired.  He  ac- 
cordingly fitted  out  a  fine  ship,  the  "  Beaver,"  of 
four  hundred  and  ninety  tons.  Her  cargo  was 
assorted  with  a  view  to  the  supply  of  Astoria, 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

the  trade  along  the  coast,  and  the  wants  of  the 
Russian  Fur  Company.  There  embarked  in  her, 
for  the  settlement,  a  partner,  five  clerks,  fifteen 
American  laborers,  and  six  Canadian  voyageurs. 
Mr.  John  Clarke,  the  partner,  was  a  native  of 
the  United  States,  although  he  had  passed  much 
of  his  life  in  the  Northwest,  having  been  em- 
ployed in  the  fur  trade  since  the  age  of  sixteen. 
The  clerks  were,  chiefly,  young  American  gentle- 
men of  good  connections.  Mr.  Astor  had  selected 
this  reinforcement  with  the  design  of  securing 
an  ascendency  of  American  influence  at  Astoria, 
and  rendering  the  association  decidedly  national. 
This,  from  the  peculiar  circumstances  of  the  case, 
he  had  been  unable  to  do  in  the  commencement 
of  his  undertaking. 

Captain  Sowle,  the  commander  of  the 
"  Beaver,"  was  directed  to  touch  at  the  Sandwich 
Islands,  to  inquire  about  the  fortunes  of  the 
"Tonquin,"  and  ascertain,  if  possible,  whether 
the  settlement  had  been  effected  at  Astoria.  If 
so,  he  was  to  enlist  as  many  of  the  natives  as 
possible  and  proceed.  He  was  to  use  great  cau- 
tion in  his  approach  to  the  mouth  of  the 
Columbia.  If  everything  was  found  right,  how- 
ever, he  was  to  land  such  part  of  his  cargo  as 
was  intended  for  the  post,  and  to  sail  for  New 
Archangel  with  the  Russian  supplies.  Having 
received  furs  in  payment,  he  would  return  to 
Astoria,  take  in  the  peltries  there  collected,  and 


IRVING'S  "ASTORIA" 

make  the  best  of  his  way  to  Canton.  These  were 
the  strict  letter  of  his  instructions  —  a  deviation 
from  which  was  subsequently  the  cause  of  great 
embarrassment  and  loss,  and  contributed  largely 
to  the  failure  of  the  whole  enterprise.  The 
"  Beaver  "  sailed  on  the  tenth  of  October,  1811, 
and,  after  taking  in  twelve  natives  at  the  Sand- 
wich Islands,  reached  the  mouth  of  the  Columbia, 
in  safety,  on  the  ninth  of  May,  1812.  Her  arrival 
gave  life  and  vigor  to  the  establishment,  and 
afforded  means  of  extending  the  operations  of 
the  Company,  and  founding  a  number  of  interior 
trading-posts. 

It  now  became  necessary  to  send  despatches 
over  land  to  Mr.  Astor,  at  New  York,  an  attempt 
at  so  doing  having  been  frustrated  some  time 
before  by  the  hostility  of  the  Indians  at  Wish- 
Ram.  The  task  was  confided  to  Mr.  Robert 
Stuart,  who,  though  he  had  never  been  across 
the  mountains,  had  given  evidence  of  his  com- 
petency for  such  undertakings.  He  was  accom- 
panied by  Ben  Jones  and  John  Day,  Kentuck- 
ians;  Andri  Vallar  and  Francis  Le  Clerc, 
Canadians;  and  two  of  the  partners,  Messieurs 
M'Lellan  and  Crooks,  who  were  desirous  of  re- 
turning to  the  Atlantic  States.  This  little  party 
set  out  on  the  twenty-ninth  of  June,  and  Mr. 
Irving  accompanies  them,  in  detail,  throughout 
the  whole  of  their  long  and  dangerous  wayfaring. 
As  might  be  expected,  they  encountered  mis- 
243 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

fortunes  still  more  terrible  than  those  before 
experienced  by  Mr.  Hunt  and  his  associates. 
The  chief  features  of  the  journey  were  the 
illness  of  Mr.  Crooks  and  the  less  of  all  the  horses 
of  the  party  through  the  villany  of  the  Upsaro- 
kas.  This  latter  circumstance  was  the  cause  of 
excessive  trouble  and  great  delay.  On  the 
thirtieth  of  April,  however,  the  party  arrived, 
in  fine  health  and  spirits,  at  St.  Louis,  having 
been  ten  months  in  performing  their  perilous 
expedition.  The  route  taken  by  Mr.  Stuart  coin- 
cided nearly  with  that  of  Mr.  Hunt,  as  far  as 
the  Wind  River  Mountains.  From  this  point, 
the  former  struck  somewhat  to  the  southeast, 
following  the  Nebraska  to  its  junction  with  the 
Missouri. 

War  having  at  length  broken  out  between  the 
United  States  and  England,  Mr.  Astor  per- 
ceived that  the  harbor  of  New  York  would  be 
blockaded,  and  the  departure  of  the  annual 
supply  ship  in  the  autumn  prevented.  In  this 
emergency,  he  wrote  to  Captain  Sowle,  the  com- 
mander of  the  "Beaver,"  addressing  him  at 
Canton.  The  letter  directed  him  to  proceed 
to  the  factory,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Columbia, 
with  such  articles  as  the  establishment  might 
need,  and  to  remain  there  subject  to  the  orders 
of  Mr.  Hunt.  In  the  mean  time,  nothing 
had  yet  been  heard  from  the  settlement.  Still, 
not  discouraged,  Mr.  Astor  determined  to  send 
244 


IRVING'S  "ASTORIA" 

out  another  ship,  although  the  risk  of  loss  was  so 
greatly  enhanced  that  no  insurance  could  be 
effected.  The  "  Lark  "  was  chosen  —  remark- 
able for  her  fast  sailing.  She  put  to  sea  on 
the  sixth  of  March,  1813,  under  the  command 
of  Mr.  Northrop,  her  mate  —  the  officer  first 
appointed  to  command  her  having  shrunk  from 
his  engagement.  Within  a  fortnight  after  her 
departure,  Mr.  Astor  received  intelligence 
that  the  Northwest  Company  had  presented  a 
memorial  to  Great  Britain,  stating  the  vast 
scope  of  the  contemplated  operations  at  Astoria, 
expressing  a  fear  that,  unless  crushed,  the 
settlement  there  would  effect  the  downfall  of 
their  own  fur  trade,  and  advising  that  a  force 
be  sent  against  the  colony.  In  consequence,  the 
frigate  "  Phoebe "  was  ordered  to  convoy  the 
armed  ship  "  Isaac  Todd,"  belonging  to  the 
Northwest  Company,  and  provided  with  men  and 
munitions  for  the  formation  of  a  new  establish- 
ment. They  were  directed  "  to  proceed  together 
to  the  mouth  of  the  Columbia,  capture  or  destroy 
whatever  American  fortress  they  would  find 
there,  and  plant  the  British  flag  on  its  ruins." 
Upon  this  matter's  being  represented  to  our  gov- 
ernment, the  frigate  "Adams,"  Captain  Crane, 
was  detailed  for  the  protection  of  Astoria;  and 
Mr.  Astor  proceeded  to  fit  out  a  ship  called  the 
"  Enterprise,"  to  sail  in  company  with  the  frigate, 
and  freighted  with  additional  supplies.  Just, 
245 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

however,  as  the  two  vessels  were  ready,  a  rein- 
forcement of  seamen  was  wanted  for  Lake  On- 
tario, and  the  crew  of  the  "Adams"  were, 
necessarily,  transferred  to  that  service.  Mr. 
Astor  was  about  to  send  off  his  ship  alone,  when 
a  British  force  made  its  appearance  off  the  Hook, 
and  New  York  was  effectually  blockaded.  The 
"  Enterprise,"  therefore,  was  unloaded  and  dis- 
mantled. We  now  return  to  the  "  Beaver." 

This  vessel,  after  leaving  at  Astoria  that  por- 
tion of  her  cargo  destined  for  that  post,  sailed 
for  New  Archangel  on  the  fourth  of  August, 
1812.  She  arrived  there  on  the  nineteenth, 
meeting  with  no  incidents  of  moment.  A  long 
time  was  now  expended  in  negotiations  with  the 
drunken  governor  of  the  Russian  fur  colony  — 
one  Count  Baranoff  —  and  when  they  were 
finally  completed,  the  month  of  October  had 
arrived.  Moreover,  in  payment  for  his  supplies, 
Mr.  Hunt  was  to  receive  seal-skins,  and  none 
were  on  the  spot.  It  was  necessary,  therefore,  to 
proceed  to  a  seal-catching  establishment  belong- 
ing to  the  Russian  Company  at  the  Island  of 
St.  Paul,  in  the  sea  of  Kamschatka.  He  set 
sail  for  this  place  on  the  fourth  of  October,  after 
having  wasted  forty-five  days  at  New  Archangel. 
He  arrived  on  the  thirty-first  of  the  month  —  by 
which  time,  according  to  his  arrangement,  he 
should  have  been  back  at  Astoria.  Now  occurred 
great  delay  in  getting  the  peltries  on  board;  every 
246 


IRVING'S  "ASTORIA" 

pack  being  overhauled  to  prevent  imposition. 
To  make  matters  worse,  the  "  Beaver "  one 
night  was  driven  off  shore  in  a  gale,  and  could 
not  get  back  until  the  thirteenth  of  November. 
Having  at  length  taken  in  the  cargo  and  put  to 
sea,  Mr.  Hunt  was  in  some  perplexity  as  to  his 
course.  The  ship  had  been  much  injured  in  the 
late  gale,  and  he  thought  it  imprudent  to  attempt 
making  the  mouth  of  the  Columbia  in  this 
boisterous  time  of  the  year.  Moreover,  the  sea- 
son was  already  much  advanced;  and  should  he 
proceed  to  Astoria  as  originally  intended,  he 
might  arrive  at  Canton  so  late  as  to  find  a  bad 
market.  Unfortunately,  therefore,  he  deter- 
mined to  go  at  once  to  the  Sandwich  Islands, 
there  await  the  arrival  of  the  annual  ship  from 
New  York,  take  passage  in  her  to  the  settlement, 
and  let  the  "  Beaver  "  proceed  on  her  voyage  to 
China.  It  is  but  justice  to  add  that  he  was 
mainly  induced  to  this  course  by  the  timid  rep- 
resentations of  Captain  Sowle.  They  reached 
Woahoo  in  safety,  where  the  ship  underwent  the 
necessary  repairs,  and  again  put  to  sea  on  the 
first  of  January,  1813,  leaving  Mr.  Hunt  on  the 
island. 

At  Canton,  Captain  Sowle  found  the  letter 
of  Mr.  Astor,  giving  him  information  of  the  war, 
and  directing  him  to  convey  the  intelligence  to 
Astoria.  He  wrote  a  reply,  in  which  he  de- 
clined complying  with  these  orders,  saying  that 
247 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

he  would  wait  for  peace,  and  then  return  home. 
In  the  mean  time  Mr.  Hunt  waited  in  vain  for 
the  annual  vessel.  At  length,  about  the  twentieth 
of  June,  the  ship  "  Albatross,"  Captain  Smith, 
arrived  from  China,  bringing  the  first  news  of 
the  war  to  the  Sandwich  Islands.  This  ship  Mr. 
Hunt  chartered  for  two  thousand  dollars,  to  land 
him,  with  some  supplies,  at  Astoria.  He  reached 
this  post  on  the  twentieth  of  August,  where  he 
found  the  affairs  of  the  Company  in  a  perishing 
condition,  and  the  partners  bent  upon  abandon- 
ing the  settlement.  To  this  resolution  Mr.  Hunt 
was  finally  brought  to  consent.  There  was  a 
large  stock  of  furs,  however,  at  the  factory, 
which  it  was  necessary  to  get  to  a  market,  and 
a  ship  was  required  for  this  service*  The  "  Alba- 
tross "  was  bound  to  the  Marquesas,  and  thence 
to  the  Sandwich  Islands;  and  it  was  resolved  that 
Mr.  Hunt  should  sail  in  her  in  quest  of  a  vessel, 
returning,  if  possible,  by  the  first  of  January, 
and  bringing  with  him  a  supply  of  provisions. 
He  departed  on  the  twenty-sixth  of  August,  and 
reached  the  Marquesas  without  accident.  Com- 
modore Porter  soon  afterward  arrived,  bringing 
intelligence  that  the  British  frigate  "Phoebe," 
with  a  store-ship  mounted  with  battering  pieces, 
together  with  the  sloops  of  war  "  Cherub  "  and 
"  Raccoon,"  had  all  sailed  from  Rio  Janeiro,  on 
the  sixth  of  July,  bound  for  the  mouth  of  the 
Columbia.  Mr.  Hunt,  after  in  vain  attempt- 
£48 


IRVING'S  "ASTORIA" 

ing  to  purchase  a  whale-ship  from  Commodore 
Porter,  started,  on  the  twenty-third  of  Novem- 
ber, for  the  Sandwich  Islands,  arriving  on  De- 
cember the  twentieth.  Here  he  found  Captain 
Northrop,  of  the  "Lark,"  which  had  suffered 
shipwreck  on  the  coast  about  the  middle  of 
March.  The  brig  "  Pedlar  "  was  now  purchased 
for  ten  thousand  dollars,  and,  Captain  Northrop 
being  put  in  command  of  her,  Mr.  Hunt  sailed 
for  Astoria  on  the  twenty-second  of  January, 
1814,  with  the  view  of  removing  the  property 
there,  as  speedily  as  possible,  to  the  Russian 
settlements  in  the  vicinity  —  these  were  Mr. 
Astor's  orders  sent  out  by  the  "  Lark."  On  the 
twenty-eighth  of  February  the  brig  anchored  in 
the  Columbia,  when  it  was  found  that,  on  the 
twelfth  of  December,  the  British  had  taken 
possession  of  the  post.  In  some  negotiations 
carried  on,  just  before  the  surrender,  on  the  part 
of  the  Northwest  Company  and  M'Dougal,  that 
worthy  personage  gave  full  evidence  that  Captain 
Thorn  was  not  far  wrong  in  suspecting  him  to 
be  no  better  than  he  should  be.  He  had  been 
for  some  time  secretly  a  partner  of  the  rival  asso- 
ciation, and  shortly  before  the  arrival  of  the 
British,  took  advantage  of  his  situation  as  head 
of  the  post,  to  barter  away  the  property  of  the 
Company  at  less  than  one-third  of  its  value. 

Thus  failed  this  great  enterprise  of  Mr.  Astor. 
At  the  peace,  Astoria  itself,  by  the  treaty  of 
£49 


ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

Ghent,  reverted  with  the  adjacent  country  to  the 
United  States,  on  the  principle  of  status  ante 
bellum.  In  the  winter  of  1815,  Congress  passed 
a  law  prohibiting  all  traffic  of  British  traders 
within  our  territories,  and  Mr.  Astor  felt 
anxious  to  seize  this  opportunity  for  the  renewal 
of  his  undertaking.  For  good  reasons,  however, 
he  could  do  nothing  without  the  direct  protec- 
tion of  the  Government.  This  evinced  much 
supineness  in  the  matter;  the  favorable  moment 
was  suffered  to  pass  unimproved;  and,  in  de- 
spite of  the  prohibition  of  Congress,  the  British 
finally  usurped  the  lucrative  traffic  in  peltries 
throughout  the  whole  of  our  vast  territories  in 
the  Northwest.  A  very  little  aid  from  the  sources 
whence  he  had  naturally  a  right  to  expect  it 
would  have  enabled  Mr.  Astor  to  direct  this  prof- 
itable commerce  into  national  channels,  and  to 
render  New  York,  what  London  has  now  long 
been,  the  great  emporium  for  furs. 

We  have  already  spoken  of  the  masterly  man- 
ner in  which  Mr.  Irving  has  executed  his  task. 
It  occurs  to  us  that  we  have  observed  one  or 
two  slight  discrepancies  in  the  narrative.  There 
appears  to  be  some  confusion  between  the  names 
of  M'Lellan,  M'Lennon,  and  M'Lennan  —  or  do 
these  three  appellations  refer  to  the  same  in- 
dividual? In  going  up  the  Missouri,  Mr.  Hunt 
arrives  at  the  Great  Bend  on  the  first  of  June, 
—  the  third  day  after  which  (the  day  on  which 
250 


IRVING'S  "ASTORIA" 

the  party  is  overtaken  by  Lisa)  is  said  to  be  the 
third  of  July.  Jones  and  Carson  join  the  expedi- 
tion just  above  the  Omaha  village.  At  page  187, 
vol.  i,  we  are  told  that  the  two  men  "  who  had 
joined  the  company  at  the  Maha  village" 
(meaning  Omaha,  we  presume),  deserted  and 
were  pursued,  but  never  overtaken  —  at  page 
199,  however,  Carson  is  recognized  by  an  Indian 
who  is  holding  a  parley  with  the  party.  The 
"  Lark,"  too,  only  sailed  from  New  York  on  the 
sixth  of  March,  1813,  and  on  the  tenth,  we  find 
her,  much  buffeted,  somewhere  in  the  near 
vicinity  of  the  Sandwich  Islands.  These  errors 
are  of  little  importance  in  themselves,  but  may 
as  well  be  rectified  in  a  future  edition. 


251 


II 

MARGINALIA 


MARGINALIA 

IN  getting  my  books,  I  have  been  always 
solicitous  of  an  ample  margin;  this  not  so 
much  through  any  love  of  the  thing  in  itself,  how- 
ever agreeable,  as  for  the  facility  it  affords  me  of 
pencilling  suggested  thoughts,  agreements,  and 
differences  of  opinion,  or  brief  critical  comments 
in  general.  Where  what  I  have  to  note  is  too 
much  to  be  included  within  the  narrow  limits  of 
a  margin,  I  commit  it  to  a  slip  of  paper,  and 
deposit  it  between  the  leaves;  taking  care  to  se- 
cure it  by  an  imperceptible  portion  of  gum- 
tragacanth  paste. 

All  this  may  be  whim;  it  may  be  not  only  a 
very  hackneyed,  but  a  very  idle  practice ;  —  yet 
I  persist  in  it  still;  and  it  affords  me  pleasure; 
which  is  profit,  in  despite  of  Mr.  Bentham,  with 
Mr.  Mill  on  his  back. 

This  making  of  notes,  however,  is  by  no  means 
the  making  of  mere  memoranda  —  a  custom 
which  has  its  disadvantages,  beyond  doubt.  "  Ce 
que  je  mets  sur  papier"  says  Bernardin  de  St. 
Pierre,  "  je  remets  de  ma  memoire,  et  par  conse- 
quence je  I'oublie;  "  —  and,  in  fact,  if  you  wish 
to  forget  anything  on  the  spot,  make  a  note 
that  this  thing  is  to  be  remembered. 
255 


MARGINALIA 

But  the  purely  marginal  jottings,  done  with 
no  eye  to  the  Memorandum  Book,  have  a  distinct 
complexion,  and  not  only  a  distinct  purpose, 
but  none  at  all;  this  it  is  which  imparts  to  them 
a  value.  They  have  a  rank  somewhat  above  the 
chance  and  desultory  comments  of  literary  chit- 
chat, for  these  latter  are  not  unfrequently  "  talk 
for  talk's  sake,"  hurried  out  of  the  mouth;  while 
the  marginalia  are  deliberately  pencilled,  because 
the  mind  of  the  reader  wishes  to  unburden  itself 
of  a  thought  —  however  flippant,  however  silly, 
however  trivial  —  still  a  thought  indeed,  not 
merely  a  thing  that  might  have  been  a  thought 
in  time,  and  under  more  favorable  circumstances. 
In  the  marginalia,  too,  we  talk  only  to  ourselves ; 
we  therefore  talk  freshly,  boldly,  originally, 
with  abandonnement,  without  conceit,  much 
after  the  fashion  of  Jeremy  Taylor,  and  Sir 
Thomas  Browne,  and  Sir  William  Temple,  and 
the  anatomical  Burton,  and  that  most  logical 
analogist,  Butler,  and  some  other  people  of  the 
old  day,  who  were  too  full  of  their  matter  to  have 
any  room  for  their  manner,  which,  being  thus 
left  out  of  question,  was  a  capital  manner,  in- 
deed — r  a  model  of  manners,  with  a  richly  margi- 
nalic  air. 

The  circumscription  of  space,  too,  in  these 
pencillings,  has  in  it  something  more  of  advan- 
tage than  inconvenience.  It  compels  us  (what- 
ever diffuseness  of  idea  we  may  clandestinely 
256 


MARGINALIA 

entertain)  into  Montesquieu-ism,  into  Tacitus- 
ism  (here  I  leave  out  of  view  the  concluding 
portion  of  the  "  Annals  ")  or  even  into  Carlyle- 
ism  —  a  thing  which,  I  have  been  told,  is  not  to 
be  confounded  with  your  ordinary  affectation  and 
bad  grammar.  I  say  "  bad  grammar  "  through 
sheer  obstinacy,  because  the  grammarians  (who 
should  know  better)  insist  upon  it  that  I  should 
not.  But  then  grammar  is  not  what  these  gram- 
marians will  have  it;  and,  being  merely  the  analy- 
sis of  language,  with  the  result  of  this  analysis, 
must  be  good  or  bad  just  as  the  analyst  is  sage 
or  silly  —  just  as  he  is  a  Home  Tooke  or  a  Cob- 
bett. 

But  to  our  sheep.  During  a  rainy  afternoon, 
not  long  ago,  being  in  a  mood  too  listless  for 
continuous  study,  I  sought  relief  from  ennui  in 
dipping  here  and  there,  at  random,  among  the 
volumes  of  my  library  —  no  very  large  one,  cer- 
tainly, but  sufficiently  miscellaneous;  and,  I 
flatter  myself,  not  a  little  recherche. 

Perhaps  it  was  what  the  Germans  call  the 
"brain-scattering"  humor  of  the  moment;  but, 
while  the  picturesqueness  of  the  numerous  pen- 
cil scratches  arrested  my  attention,  their  helter- 
skelter-iness  of  commentary  amused  me.  I  found 
myself,  at  length,  forming  a  wish  that  it  had  been 
some  other  hand  than  my  own  which  had  so  be- 
devilled the  books,  and  fancying  that,  in  such 
case,  I  might  have  derived  no  inconsiderable 
257 


MARGINALIA 

pleasure  from  turning  them  over.  From  this 
the  transition-thought  (as  Mr.  Lyell,  or  Mr. 
Murchison,  or  Mr.  Featherstonhaugh  would 
have  it)  was  natural  enough:  —  there  might  be 
something  even  in  my  scribblings  which,  for  the 
mere  sake  of  scribbling,  would  have  interest  for 
others. 

The  main  difficulty  respected  the  mode  of 
transferring  the  notes  from  the  volumes  —  the 
context  from  the  text  —  without  detriment  to 
that  exceedingly  frail  fabric  of  intelligibility  in 
which  the  context  was  imbedded.  With  all  ap- 
pliances to  boot,  with  the  printed  pages  at  their 
back,  the  commentaries  were  too  often  like 
Dodona's  oracles  —  or  those  of  Lycophron  Tene- 
brosus  —  or  the  essays  of  the  pedant's  pupils,  in 
Quintilian,  which  were  "necessarily  excellent, 
since  even  he  "  (the  pedant)  "  found  it  impossible 
to  comprehend  them:  "  — what,  then,  would  be- 
come of  it  —  this  context  —  if  transferred?  if 
translated?  Would  it  not  rather  be  tr adult 
(traduced)  which  is  the  French  synonyme,  or 
overzezet  (turned  topsy-turvy)  which  is  the 
Dutch  one? 

I  concluded,  at  length,  to  put  extensive  faith 
in  the  acumen  and  imagination  of  the  reader :  — 
this  as  a  general  rule.  But,  in  some  instances, 
where  even  faith  would  not  remove  mountains, 
there  seemed  no  safer  plan  than  so  to  remodel  the 
note  as  to  convey  at  least  the  ghost  of  a  concep- 
258 


MARGINALIA 

tion  as  to  what  it  was  all  about.  Where,  for 
such  conception,  the  text  itself  was  absolutely 
necessary,  I  could  quote  it;  where  the  title  of 
the  book  commented  upon  was  indispensable,  I 
could  name  it.  In  short,  like  a  novel-hero 
dilemma'd,  I  made  up  my  mind  "  to  be  guided 
by  circumstances,"  in  default  of  more  satis- 
factory rules  of  conduct. 

As  for  the  multitudinous  opinion  expressed 
in  the  subjoined  farrago  —  as  for  my  present 
assent  to  all  or  dissent  from  any  portion  of  it  — 
as  to  the  possibility  of  my  having  in  some  ins- 
tances altered  my  mind  —  or  as  to  the  impossibil- 
ity of  my  not  having  altered  it  often  —  these  are 
points  upon  which  I  say  nothing,  because  upon 
these  there  can  be  nothing  cleverly  said.  It  may 
be  as  well  to  observe,  however,  that  just  as  the 
goodness  of  your  true  pun  is  in  the  direct  ratio 
of  its  intolerability,  so  is  nonsense  the  essential 
sense  of  the  Marginal  Note. 

NATIONALITY  IN  AMERICAN  LETTERS 

Much  has  been  said,  of  late,  about  the  neces- 
sity of  maintaining  a  proper  nationality  in 
American  Letters;  but  what  this  nationality  is, 
or  what  is  to  be  gained  by  it,  has  never  been  dis- 
tinctly understood.  That  an  American  should 
confine  himself  to  American  themes,  or  even  pre- 
fer them,  is  rather  a  political  than  a  literary  idea 
—  and  at  best  is  a  questionable  point.  We  would 
259 


MARGINALIA 

do  well  to  bear  in  mind  that  "  distance  lends  en- 
chantment to  the  view."  Ceteris  paribus,  a  for- 
eign theme  is,  in  a  strictly  literary  sense,  to  be 
preferred.  After  all,  the  world  at  large  is  the 
only  legitimate  stage  for  the  authorial  histrio. 

But  of  the  need  of  that  nationality  which  de- 
fends our  own  literature,  sustains  our  own  men 
of  letters,  upholds  our  own  dignity,  and  depends 
upon  our  own  resources,  there  cannot  be  the 
shadow  of  a  doubt.  Yet  here  is  the  very  point 
at  which  we  are  most  supine.  We  complain  of 
our  want  of  an  International  Copyright,  on  the 
ground  that  this  want  justifies  our  publishers 
in  inundating  us  with  British  opinion  in  British 
books;  and  yet  when  these  very  publishers,  at 
their  own  obvious  risk,  and  even  obvious  loss, 
do  publish  an  American  book,  we  turn  up  our 
noses  at  it  with  supreme  contempt  (this  as  a 
general  thing)  until  it  (  the  American  book)  has 
been  dubbed  "  readable "  by  some  illiterate 
Cockney  critic.  Is  it  too  much  to  say  that,  with 
us,  the  opinion  of  Washington  Irving  —  of 
Prescott  —  of  Bryant  —  is  a  mere  nullity  in  com- 
parison with  that  of  any  anonymous  sub-sub- 
editor of  the  "  Spectator,"  the  "  Athenaeum,"  or 
the  London  "  Punch  "  ?  It  is  not  saying  too  much 
to  say  this.  It  is  a  solemn  —  an  absolutely  awful 
fact.  Every  publisher  in  the  country  will  admit 
it  to  be  a  fact.  There  is  not  a  more  disgusting 
spectacle  under  the  sun  than  our  subserviency 
260 


MARGINALIA 

to  British  criticism.  It  is  disgusting,  first,  be- 
cause it  is  truckling,  servile,  pusillanimous  — 
secondly,  because  of  its  gross  irrationality.  We 
know  the  British  to  bear  us  little  but  ill-will;  we 
know  that,  in  no  case,  do  they  utter  unbiassed 
opinions  of  American  books;  we  know  that  in  the 
few  instances  in  which  our  writers  have  been 
treated  with  common  decency  in  England,  these 
writers  have  either  openly  paid  homage  to  Eng- 
lish institutions,  or  have  had  lurking  at  the  bottom 
of  their  hearts  a  secret  principle  at  war  with 
Democracy: — we  know  all  this,  and  yet,  day 
after  day,  submit  our  necks  to  the  degrading 
yoke  of  the  crudest  opinion  that  emanates  from 
the  fatherland.  Now  if  we  must  have  nationality, 
let  it  be  a  nationality  that  will  throw  off  this 
yoke. 

The  chief  of  the  rhapsodists  who  have  ridden  us 
to  death,  like  the  Old  Man  of  the  Mountain,  is  the 
ignorant  and  egotistical  Wilson.  We  use  the 
term  rhapsodists  with  perfect  deliberation;  for, 
Macaulay  and  Dilke  and  one  or  two  others  ex- 
cepted,  there  is  not  in  Great  Britain  a  critic  who 
can  be  fairly  considered  worthy  the  name.  The 
Germans,  and  even  the  French,  are  infinitely 
superior.  As  regards  Wilson,  no  man  ever 
penned  worse  criticism  or  better  rodomontade. 
That  he  is  "  egotistical "  his  works  show  to  all 
men,  running  as  they  read.  That  he  is  "  igno- 
rant" let  his  absurd  and  continuous  schoolboy 
261 


MARGINALIA 

blunders  about  Homer  bear  witness.  Not  long 
ago  we  ourselves  pointed  out  a  series  of  similar 
inanities  in  his  review  of  Miss  Barrett's  poems  — 
a  series,  we  say,  of  gross  blunders,  arising  from 
sheer  ignorance  —  and  we  defy  him  or  any  one  to 
answer  a  single  syllable  of  what  we  then  ad- 
vanced. 

And  yet  this  is  the  man  whose  simple  dictum 
(to  our  shame  be  it  spoken)  has  the  power  to 
make  or  to  mar  any  American  reputation!  In 
the  last  number  of  "  Blackwood,"  he  has  a  con- 
tinuation of  the  dull  "  Specimens  of  the  British 
Critics,"  and  makes  occasion  wantonly  to  insult 
one  of  the  noblest  of  our  poets,  Mr.  Lowell.  The 
point  of  the  whole  attack  consists  in  the  use  of 
slang  epithets  and  phrases  of  the  most  ineffably 
vulgar  description.  "  Squabashes  "  is  a  pet  term. 
"  Faugh ! "  is  another.  "  We  are  Scotsmen  to  the 
spine! "  says  Sawney  —  as  if  the  thing  were  not 
more  than  self-evident.  Mr.  Lowell  is  called  "  a 
magpie,"  an  "  ape,"  a  "  Yankee  cockney,"  and 
his  name  is  intentionally  miswritten  John  Russell 
Lowell.  Now  were  these  indecencies  perpetrated 
by  an  American  critic,  that  critic  would  be  sent  to 
Coventry  by  the  whole  press  of  the  country;  but 
since  it  is  Wilson  who  insults,  we,  as  in  duty 
bound,  not  only  submit  to  the  insult,  but  echo  it, 
as  an  excellent  jest,  throughout  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  land.  Quamdiu  Catilina?  We  do 
indeed  demand  the  nationality  of  self-respect.  In 


MARGINALIA 

Letters  as  in  Government  we  require  a,  Declara- 
tion of  Independence.  A  better  thing  still  would 
be  a  Declaration  of  War  —  and  that  war  should 
be  carried  forthwith  "  into  Africa." 

MAGAZINE  LITERATURE  IN  AMERICA 

Whatever  may  be  the  merits  or  demerits,  gen- 
erally, of  the  magazine  literature  of  America, 
there  can  be  no  question  as  to  its  extent  or  in- 
fluence. The  topic  —  magazine  literature  —  is 
therefore  an  important  one.  In  a  few  years  its 
importance  will  be  found  to  have  increased  in 
geometrical  ratio.  The  whole  tendency  *of  the 
age  is  magazine-ward.  The  Quarterly  Reviews 
have  never  been  popular.  Not  only  are  they  too 
stilted  (by  way  of  keeping  up  a  due  dignity), 
but  they  make  a  point,  with  the  same  end  in  view, 
of  discussing  only  topics  which  are  caviare  to  the 
many,  and  which,  for  the  most  part,  have  only 
a  conventional  interest  even  with  the  few.  Their 
issues,  also,  are  at  too  long  intervals;  their  sub- 
jects get  cold  before  being  served  up.  In  a  word, 
their  ponderosity  is  quite  out  of  keeping  witH  the 
rush  of  the  age.  We  now  demand  the  light 
artillery  of  the  intellect;  we  need  the  curt,  the 
condensed,  the  pointed,  the  readily  diffused  —  in 
place  of  the  verbose,  the  detailed,  the  voluminous, 
the  inaccessible.  On  the  other  hand,  the  light- 
ness of  the  artillery  should  not  degenerate  into 
popgunnery  —  by  which  term  we  may  designate 
263 


MARGINALIA 

the  character  of  the  greater  portion  of  the  news- 
paper press  —  their  sole  legitimate  object  being 
the  discussion  of  ephemeral  matters  in  an 
ephemeral  manner.  Whatever  talent  may  be 
brought  to  bear  upon  our  daily  journals,  and  in 
many  cases  this  talent  is  very  great,  still  the 
imperative  necessity  of  catching  currente  calamo 
each  topic  as  it  flits  before  the  eye  of  the  public 
must  of  course  materially  narrow  the  limits  of 
their  power.  The  bulk  and  the  period  of  issue 
of  the  monthly  magazines  seem  to  be  precisely 
adapted,  if  not  to  all  the  literary  wants  of  the 
day,  at  least  to  the  largest  and  most  imperative 
as  well  as  the  most  consequential  portion  of  them. 

The  increase,  within  a  few  years,  of  the  maga- 
zine literature,  is  by  no  means  to  be  regarded  as 
indicating  what  some  critics  would  suppose  it  to 
indicate — a  downward  tendency  in  American 
taste  or  in  American  letters.  It  is  but  a  sign 
of  the  times  —  an  indication  of  an  era  in  which 
men  are  forced  upon  the  curt,  the  condensed,  the 
well-digested,  in  place  of  the  voluminous  —  in  a 
word,  upon  journalism  in  lieu  of  dissertation. 
We  need  now  the  light  artillery  rather  than  the 
"  Peace-makers "  of  the  intellect.  I  will  not 
be  sure  that  men  at  present  think  more  pro- 
foundly than  half  a  century  ago,  but  beyond 
question  they  think  with  more  rapidity,  with 
more  skill,  with  more  tact,  with  more  of  method 


MARGINALIA 

and  less  of  excrescence  in  the  thought.  Besides 
all  this,  they  have  a  vast  increase  in  the  thinking 
material;  they  have  more  facts,  more  to  think 
about.  For  this  reason,  they  are  disposed  to  put 
the  greatest  amount  of  thought  in  the  smallest 
compass  and  disperse  it  with  the  utmost  attain- 
able rapidity.  Hence  the  journalism  of  the  age; 
hence,  in  especial,  magazines.  Too  many  we 
cannot  have,  as  a  general  proposition;  but  we 
demand  that  they  have  sufficient  merit  to  render 
them  noticeable  in  the  beginning,  and  they  con- 
tinue in  existence  sufficiently  long  to  permit  us  a 
fair  estimation  of  their  value. 

INTERNATIONAL  COPYRIGHT 

The  question  of  international  copyright  has 
been  overloaded  with  words.  The  right  of  prop- 
erty in  a  literary  work  is  disputed  merely  for  the 
sake  of  disputation,  and  no  man  should  be  at  the 
trouble  of  arguing  the  point.  Those  who  deny  it, 
have  made  up  their  minds  to  deny  everything 
tending  to  further  the  law  in  contemplation. 
Nor  is  the  question  of  expediency  in  any  respect 
relevant.  Expediency  is  only  to  be  discussed 
where  no  rights  interfere.  It  would  no  doubt  be 
very  expedient  in  any  poor  man  to  pick  the 
pocket  of  his  wealthy  neighbor  (as  the  poor  are 
the  majority,  the  case  is  precisely  parallel  to  the 
copyright  case),  but  what  would  the  rich  think 
if  expediency  were  permitted  to  overrule  their 
265 


MARGINALIA 

right?  But  even  the  expediency  is  untenable,  — 
grossly  so.  The  immediate  advantage  arising  to 
the  pockets  of  our  people,  in  the  existing  condi- 
tion of  things,  is  no  doubt  sufficiently  plain.  We 
get  more  reading  for  less  money  than  if  the  in- 
ternational law  existed;  but  the  remoter  dis- 
advantages are  of  infinitely  greater  weight.  In 
brief,  they  are  these:  First,  we  have  injury  to 
our  national  literature  by  repressing  the  efforts 
of  our  men  of  genius;  for  genius,  as  a  general 
rule,  is  poor  in  worldly  goods  and  cannot  write 
for  nothing.  Our  genius  being  thus  repressed, 
we  are  written  at  only  by  our  "gentlemen  of 
elegant  leisure,"  and  mere  gentlemen  of  elegant 
leisure  have  been  noted,  time  out  of  mind,  for 
the  insjpidity  of  their  productions.  In  general, 
too,  they  are  obstinately  conservative,  and  this 
feeling  leads  them  into  imitation  of  foreign,  more 
especially  of  British  models.  This  is  one  main 
source  of  the  imitativeness  with  which,  as  a 
people,  we  have  been  justly  charged,  although 
the  first  cause  is  to  be  found  in  our  position  as  a 
colony.  Colonies  have  always  naturally  aped  the 
mother  land.  In  the  second  place,  irreparable 
ill  is  wrought  by  the  almost  exclusive  dissemina- 
tion among  us  of  foreign  —  that  is  to  say,  of 
monarchical  or  aristocratical  sentiment  in  for- 
eign books;  nor  is  this  sentiment  less  fatal  to 
democracy  because  it  reaches  the  people  them- 
selves directly  in  the  gilded  pill  of  the  poem  or 
266 


MARGINALIA 

the  novel.  We  have  next  to  consider  the  impolicy 
of  our  committing,  in  the  national  character,  an 
open  and  continuous  wrong  on  the  frivolous 
pretext  of  its  benefiting  ourselves.  The  last  and 
by  far  the  most  important  consideration  of  all, 
however,  is  that  sense  of  insult  and  injury 
aroused  in  the  whole  active  intellect  of  the  world, 
the  bitter  and  fatal  resentment  excited  in  the 
universal  heart  of  literature  —  a  resentment 
which  will  not  and  which  cannot  make  nice  dis- 
tinctions between  the  temporary  perpetrators  of 
the  wrong  and  that  democracy  in  general  which 
permits  its  perpetration.  The  authorial  body  is 
the  most  autocratic  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 
How,  then,  can  those  institutions  even  hope  to 
be  safe  which  systematically  persist  in  trampling 
it  under  foot? 

A  man  of  genius,  if  not  permitted  to  choose 
his  own  subject,  will  do  worse,  in  letters,  than  if 
he  had  talents  none  at  all.  And  here  how  im- 
peratively is  he  controlled!  To  be  sure,  he  can 
write  to  suit  himself  —  but  in  the  same  manner 
his  publishers  print.  From  the  nature  of  our 
copyright  laws,  he  has  no  individual  powers.  As 
for  his  free  agency,  it  is  about  equal  to  that  of 
the  dean  and  chapter  of  the  see-cathedral,  in  a 
British  election  of  bishops  —  an  election  held  by 
virtue  of  the  king's  writ  of  conge  d'elire,  specify- 
ing the  person  to  be  elected. 
267 


rab 
mai 


MARGINALIA 

MEN  OF  GENIUS 

We  mere  men  of  the  world,  with  no  principle 
—  a  very  old-fashioned  and  cumbersome  thing  — 
should  be  on  our  guard  lest,  fancying  him  on  his 
last  legs,  we  insult  or  otherwise  maltreat  some 
poor  devil  of  a  genius  at  the  very  instant  of  his 
putting  his  foot  on  the  top  round  of  his  ladder  of 
triumph.  It  is  a  common  trick  with  these  fellows, 
when  on  the  point  of  attaining  some  long-cher- 
ished end,  to  sink  themselves  into  the  deepest 
possible  abyss  of  seeming  despair,  for  no  other 
purpose  than  that  of  increasing  the  space  of  suc- 
cess through  which  they  have  made  up  their 
minds  immediately  to  soar. 

If  any  ambitious  man  have  a  fancy  to  revolu- 
tionize, at  one  effort,  the  universal  world  of 
human  thought,  human  opinion,  and  human 
sentiment,  the  opportunity  is  his  own  —  the  road 
to  immortal  renown  lies  straight,  open,  and 
unencumbered  before  him.  All  that  he  has  to  do 

to  write  and  publish  a  very  little  book.  Its 
title  should  be  simple  —  a  few  plain  words  — 
"  My  Heart  Laid  Bare."  But  —  this  little  book 
must  })e/true  to  its  title. 

Now,  is  it  not  very  singular  that,  with  the 
id  thirst  for  notoriety  which  distinguishes  so 
many  of  mankind  —  so  many,  too,  who  care  not 
a  fig  what  is  thought  of  them  after  death,  there 


MARGINALIA 

should  not  be  found  one  man  having  sufficient 
hardihood  to  write  this  little  book?  To  write,  I 
say.  There  are  ten  thousand  men  who,  if  the  book 
were  once  written,  would  laugh  at  the  notion  of 
being  disturbed  by  its  publication  during  their 
lif  e,  and  who  could  not  even  conceive  why  they 
should  object  to  its  being  published  after  their 
death.  But  to  write  it  —  there  is  the  rub.  No 
man  dare  write  it.  No  man  ever  will  dare  write 
it.  No  man  could  write  it,  even  if  he  dared. 
;The  paper  would  shrivel  and  blaze  at  every  touch 
of  the  fiery  pen. 


All  that  the  man  of  genius  demands  for  his 
exaltation  is  moral  matter  in  motion.  It  makes 
no  difference  whither  tends  the  motion  —  whether  ' 

for  him  or  against  him  —  and  it  is  absolutely  of 
no  consequence  "  what  is  the  matter." 

I  have  sometimes  amused  myself  by  endeavor- 
ing to  fancy  what  would  be  the  fate  of  an  indi- 
vidual gifted,  or  rather  accursed,  with  an  intellect 
very  far  superior  to  that  of  his  race.  Of  course, 
he  would  be  conscious  of  his  superiority;  nor 
could  he  (if  otherwise  constituted  as  man  is)  help 
manifesting  his  consciousness.  Thus  he  would 
make  himself  enemies  at  all  points.  And  since 
his  opinions  and  speculations  would  widely  differ 
from  those  of  all  mankind  —  that  he  would  be 
considered  a  madman,  is  evident.  How  horribly 
painful  such  a  condition!  Hell  could  invent  no 
269 


MARGINALIA 

greater  torture  than  that  of  being  charged  with 
abnormal  ^weakness  on  account  of  being  abnor- 
mally strong. 

In  like  manner,  nothing  can  be  clearer  than 
that  a  very  generous  spirit  —  truly  feeling  what 
all  merely  profess  —  must  inevitably  find  itself 
misconceived  in  every  direction,  its  motives  mis- 
interpreted. Just  as  extremeness  of  intelligence 
would  be  thought  fatuity,  so  excess  of  chivalry 
could  not  fail  of  being  looked  upon  as  meanness 
in  its  last  degree:  and  so  on  with  other  virtues. 
This  subject  is  a  painful  one  indeed.  That 
individuals  have  so  soared  above  the  plane  of 
their  race,  is  scarcely  to  be  questioned;  but,  in 
looking  back  through  history  for  traces  of  their 
existence,  we  should  pass  over  all  biographies 
of  "the  good  and  the  great,"  while  we  search 
carefully  the  slight  records  of  wretches  who  died 
in  prison,  in  Bedlam,  or  upon  the  gallows. 

"  The  more  there  are  great  excellences  in  a  work,  the 
less  am  I  surprised  at  finding  great  demerits.  When  a 
book  is  said  to  have  many  faults,  nothing  is  decided,  and 
I  cannot  tell,  by  this,  whether  it  is  excellent  or  execrable. 
It  is  said  of  another  that  it  is  without  fault;  if  the 
account  be  just,  the  work  carmot  be  excellent."  — 
TKUBLET. 

The  "  cannot "  here  is  much  too  positive.    The 

opinions  of  Trublet  are  wonderfully  prevalent, 

but  they  are  none  the  less  demonstrably  false. 

It  is  merely  the  indolence  of  genius  which  has 

270 


MARGINALIA 


to  be 


given  them  currency.  The  trutK  seems 
that  genius  of  the  highest  order  lives  in  a  state  of  \ 
perpetual  vacillation  between  ambition  and  the  \ 
scorn  of  it.\  The  ambition  of  a  great  intellect  is 
at  best  negative.  It  struggles  —  it  labors  —  it 
creates  —  not  because  excellence  is  desirable,  but 
because  to  be  excelled  where  there  exists  a  sense 
of  the  power  to  excel  is  unendurable.  Indeed, 
I  cannot  help  thinking  that  the  greatest  intel- 
lects (since  these  most  clearly  perceive  the  laugh- 
able absurdity  of  human  ambition)  remain  con- 
tentedly "  mute  and  inglorious."  At  all  events, 
the  vjjcilLatign  of  which  I  speak  is  the  prominent 
feature  of  genius.  Alternately  inspired  and 
depressed,  its  inequalities  of  mood  are  stamped 
upon  its  labors.  This  is  the  truth,  generally  — 
but  it  is  a  truth  very  different  from  the  asser- 
tion involved  in  the  "  cannot "  of  Trublet. 
Give  to  genius  a  sufficiently  enduring  motive, 
and  the  result  will  be  harmony,  proportion, 
beauty,  perfection  —  all,  in  this  case,  synony- 
mous terms.  Its  supposed  "  inevitable  "  irregu- 
larities shall  not  be  found;  for  it  is  clear  that  the 
susceptibility  to  impressions  of  beauty  —  that 
susceptibility  which  is  the  most  important  ele-  I 
inent  of  genius  —  implies  an  equally  exquisite 
sensitiveness  and  aversion  to  deformity.  The 
motive  —  the  enduring  motive  —  has  indeed, 
hitherto,  fallen  rarely  to  the  lot  of  genius;  but  I 
could  point  to  several  compositions  which,  "  with— 
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MARGINALIA 

out  any  fault,"  are  yet  "excellent,"  supremely 
so.  The  world,  too,  is  on  the  threshold  of  an 
epoch,  wherein,  with  the  aid  of  a  calm  philoso- 
phy, such  compositions  shall  be  ordinarily  the 
work  of  that  genius  which  is  true.  One  of  the 
first  and  most  essential  steps,  in  overpassing  this 
threshold,  will  serve  to  kick  out  of  the  world's 
way  this  very  idea  of  Trublet  —  this  untenable 
and  paradoxical  idea  of  the  incompatibility  of 
genius  with  art. 

To  converse  well,  we  need  the  cool  tact  of 
talent  —  to  talk  well,  the  glowing  abandon  of 
genius.  Men  of  very  high  genius,  however,  talk 
at  one  time  very  well,  at  another  very  ill:  — 
well,  when  they  have  full  time,  full  scope,  and  a 
sympathetic  listener  —  ill,  when  they  fear  inter- 
ruption and  are  annoyed  by  the  impossibility  of 
exhausting  the  topic  during  that  particular  talk. 
The  partial  genius  is  flashy  —  scrappy.  The 
true  genius  shudders  at  incompleteness,  imper- 
fection, and  usually  prefers  silence  to  saying  the 
something  which  is  not  everything  that  should 
be  said.  He  is  so  filled  with  his  theme  that  he  is 
dumb,  first  from  not  knowing  how  to  begin 
where  there  seems  eternally  beginning  behind 
beginning,  and  secondly  from  perceiving  his  true 
end  at  so  infinite  a  distance.  Sometimes,  dashing 
into  a  subject,  he  blunders,  hesitates,  stops  short, 
sticks  fast,  and  because  he  has  been  overwhelmed 
272 


MARGINALIA 

by  the  rush  and  multiplicity  of  his  thoughts,  his 
hearers  sneer  at  his  inability  to  think.  Such  a 
man  finds  his  proper  element  in  those  "great 
occasions  "  which  confound  and  prostrate  the 
general  intellect. 

Nevertheless,  by  his  conversation,  the  influence 
of  the  conversationist  upon  mankind  in  gen- 
eral is  more  decided  than  that  of  the  talker  by 
his  talk:  —  the  latter  invariably  talks  to  best 
purpose  with  his  pen.  And  good  conversation- 
ists are  more  rare  than  respectable  talkers.  I 
know  many  of  the  latter;  and  of  the  former  only 
five  or  six  :  —  among  whom  I  can  call  to  mind, 
just  now,  Mr.  Willis,  Mr.  J.  T.  S.  Sullivan,  of 
Philadelphia,  Mr.  W.  M.  R.,  of  Petersburg, 
Va.,  and  Mrs.  S  -  d,  formerly  of  New  York. 
Most  people,  in  conversing,  force  us  to  curse  our 
stars  that  our  lot  was  not  cast  among  the 
African  nation  mentioned  by  Eudoxus  —  the 
savages  who,  having  no  mouths,  never  opened 
them,  as  a  matter  of  course.  And  yet,  if  denied 
mouth,  some  persons  whom  I  have  in  my  eye 
would  contrive  to  chatter  on  still  —  as  they  do 
now  —  through  the  nose. 

Men  of  genius  are  far  more  abundant  than  is 
supposed.  In  fact,  to  appreciate  thoroughly 
the  work  of  what  we  call  genius  is  to  possess  all 


the  genius  by  which  the  work  was  produced. 
But  the  person  appreciating  may  be  utterly  in- 

% 

\ 


MARGINALIA 

competent  to  reproduce  the  work,  or  anything 
similar,  and  this  solely  through  lack  of  what  may 
be  termed  the  constructive  ability  —  a  matter 
quite  independent  of  what  we  agree  to  under- 
stand in  the  term  "  genius  "  itself.  This  ability 
is  based,  to  be  sure,  in  great  part,  upon  the 
faculty  of  analysis,  enabling  the  artist  to  get  full 
view  of  the  machinery  of  his  proposed  effect,  and 
thus  work  it  and  regulate  it  at  will  L  but  a  great 
deal  depends  also  upon  properties  strictly  moral 
—  for  example,  upon  patience,  upon  concentra- 
tiveness  or  the  power  of  holding  the  attention 
steadily  to  the  one  purpose,  upon  self-depen- 
dence and  contempt  for  all  opinion  which  is  opin- 
ion and  no  more  —  in  especial,  upon  energy  or 
industry.  So  vitally  important  is  this  last,  that 
it  may  well  be  doubted  if  anything  to  which  we 
have  been  accustomed  to  give  the  title  of  a 
"  work  of  genius  "  was  ever  accomplished  with- 
out it;  and  it  is  chiefly  because  this  quality  and 
genius  are  nearly  incompatible,  that  "works  of 
genius  "  are  few,  while  mere  men  of  genius  are, 
as  I  say,  abundant.  The  Romans,  who  excelled 
us  in  acuteness  of  observation,  while  falling  be- 
low us  in  induction  from  facts  observed,  seem  to 
have  been  so  fully  aware  of  the  inseparable  con- 
nection between  industry  and  a  "  work  of  ge- 
nius "  as  to  have  adopted  the  error  that  industry, 
in  great  measure,  was  genius  itself.  The  highest 
compliment  is  intended  by  a  Roman,  when,  of  an 
274 


MARGINALIA 

epic,  or  anything  similar,  he  says  that  it  is  writ- 
ten industria  mirabili  or  incredibili  industria. 

OEIGINALTY 

All  true  men  must  rejoice  to  perceive  the  de- 
cline of  the  miserable  rant  and  cant  against 
originality,  which  was  so  much  in  vogue  a  few 
years  ago  among  a  class  of  microscopical  critics, 
and  which  at  one  period  threatened  to  degrade 
all  American  literature  to  the  level  of  Flemish 
art. 

Of  puns  it  has  been  said  that  those  most  dis- 
like who  are  least  able  to  utter  them;  but  with 
far  more  of  truth  may  it  be  asserted  that  invec- 
tives against  originality  proceed  only  from  per- 
sons at  once  hypocritical  and  commonplace.  I 
say  hypocritical  —  for  the  love  of  novelty  is  an 
indisputable  element  of  the  moral  nature  of  man; 
and  since  to  be  original  is  merely  to  be  novel,  the 
dolt  who  professes  a  distaste  for  originality,  in 
letters  or  elsewhere,  proves  in  no  degree  his 
aversion  for  the  thing  in  itself,  but  merely  that 
uncomfortable  hatred  which  ever  arises  in  the 
heart  of  an  envious  man  for  an  excellence  he  can- 
not hope  to  attain. 

ART 

"The  artist  belongs  to  his  work,  not  the  work  to  the 
artist."  —  NOVALIS. 

In  nine  cases  out  of  ten  it  is  pure  waste  of 
275 


MARGINALIA 

time  to  attempt  extorting  sense  from  a  German 
apothegm;  —  or,  rather,  any  sense  and  every 
sense  may  be  extorted  from  all  of  them.  If,  in 
the  sentence  above  quoted,  the  intention  is  to  as- 
sert that  the  artist  is  the  slave  of  his  theme  and 
must  conform  it  to  his  thoughts,  I  have  no  faith 
in  the  idea,  which  appears  to  me  that  of  an  es- 
sentially prosaic  intellect.  In  the  hands  of  the 
true  artist  the  theme,  or  "  work,"  is  but  a  mass 
of  clay,  of  which  anything  (within  the  compass 
of  the  mass  and  quality  of  the  clay)  may  be 
fashioned  at  will,  or  according  to  the  skill  of  the 
workman.  The  clay  is,  in  fact,  the  slave  of  the 
artist.  It  belongs  to  him.  His  genius,  to  be 
sure,  is  manifested,  very  distinctively,  in  the 
choice  of  the  clay.  It  should  be  neither  fine  nor 
coarse,  abstractedly,  but  just  so  fine  or  so  coarse, 
just  so  plastic  or  so  rigid,  as  may  best  serve  the 
purposes  of  the  thing  to  be  wrought,  of  the  idea 
to  be  made  out,  or,  more  exactly,  of  the  impres- 
sion to  be  conveyed.  There  are  artists,  however, 
who  fancy  only  the  finest  material,  and  who, 
consequently,  produce  only  the  finest  ware.  It 
is  generally  very  transparent  and  excessively 
brittle. 

Were  I  called  on  to  define,  very  briefly,  the 
term  "  Art,"  I  should  call  it  "  the  reproduction 
of  what  the  Senses  perceive  in  Nature  through 
276 


<v. 

MARGINALIA 


the  veil  of  the  soul."  The  mere  imitation,  how- 
C  ever  accurate,  of  what  is  in  Nature,  entitles  no 
man  to  the  sacred  name  of  "Artist."  Denner 
was  no  artist.  The  grapes  of  Zeuxis  were  in- 
artistic—  unless  in  a  bird's-eye  view;  and  not 
even  the  curtain  of  Parrhasius  could  conceal  his 
deficiency  in  point  of  genius.  I  have  mentioned 
"  the  veil  of  the  soul."  Something  of  the  kind 
appears  indispensable  in  Art.  We  can,  at  any 
time,  double  the  true  beauty  of  an  actual  land- 
scape by  half  closing  our  eyes  as  we  look  at  it. 
The  naked  Senses  sometimes  see  too  little  —  but 
then  always  they  see  too  much. 

VEBSIFICATION 

If  need  were,  .1  should  have  little  difficulty, 
perhaps,  in  defending  a  certain  apparent  dog- 
matism to  which  I  am  prone,  on  the  topic  of  ver- 
sification. 

"What  is  Poetry?"  notwithstanding  Leigh 
Hunt's  rigmarolic  attempt  at  answering  it,  is  a 
query  that,  with  great  care  and  deliberate  agree- 
ment beforehand  on  the  exact  value  of  certain 
leading  words,  may,  possibly,  be  settled  to  the 
partial  satisfaction  of  a  few  analytical  intellects, 
but  which,  in  the  existing  condition  of  metaphy- 
sics, never  can  be  settled  to  the  satisfaction  of  the 
majority;  for  the  question  is  purely  metaphysi- 
cal, and  the  whole  science  of  metaphysics  is  at 
present  a  chaos,  through  the  impossibility  of 
277 


MARGINALIA 

fixing  the  meanings  of  the  words  which  its  very 
nature  compels  it  to  employ.  But  as  regards 
versification,  this  difficulty  is  only  partial;  for 
although  one-third  of  the  topic  may  be  con- 
sidered metaphysical,  and  thus  may  be  mooted 
at  the  fancy  of  this  individual  or  of  that,  still 
the  remaining  two-thirds  belong,  undeniably,  to 
the  mathematics.  The  questions  ordinarily  dis- 
cussed with  so  much  gravity  in  regard  to  rhythm, 
metre,  etc.,  are  susceptible  of  positive  adjust- 
ment by  demonstration.  Their  laws  are  merely 
a  portion  of  the  Median  laws  of  form  and 
quantity  —  of  relation.  In  respect,  then,  to  any 
of  these  ordinary  questions  —  these  sillily  moot 
points  which  so  often  arise  in  common  criticism 
—  the  prosodist  would  speak  as  weakly  in  say- 
ing "  this  or  that  proposition  is  probably  so  and 
so,  or  possibly  so  and  so,"  as  would  the  mathema- 
tician in  admitting  that,  in  his  humble  opinion, 
or  if  he  were  not  greatly  mistaken,  any  two 
sides  of  a  triangle  were,  together,  greater  than 
the  third  side.  I  must  add,  however,  as  some 
palliation  of  the  discussions  referred  to,  and  of 
\the  objections  so  often  urged  with  a  sneer  to 
u  particular  theories  of  versification  binding  no 
one  but  their  inventor  "  —  that  there  is  really  ex- 
tant no  such  work  as  a  Prosody  Raisonnee.  The 
Prosodies  of  the  schools  are  merely  collections  of 
vague  laws,  with  their  more  vague  exceptions, 
based  upon  no  principles  whatever,  but  extorted 
278 

c 


MARGINALIA 

in  the  most  speculative  manner  from  the  usages 
of  the  ancients,  who  had  no  laws  beyond  those 
of  their  ears  and  fingers.  "  And  these  were  suf- 
ficient," it  will  be  said,  "  since  '  The  Iliad '  is 
melodious  and  harmonious  beyond  anything  of 
modern  times."  \  Admit  this:  —  but  neither  do 
we  write  in  Greek,  nor  has  the  invention  of 
modern  times  been  as  yet  exhausted.  An  analy- 
sis Ibased  on  the  natural  laws  of  which  the  bard 
of.Scio  was  ignorant,  would  suggest  multitudi- 
nous improvements  to  the  best  passages  of  even 
"  The  Iliad  "  —  nor  does  it  in  any  manner  fol- 
low from  the  supposititious  fact  that  Homer 
found  in  his  ears  and  fingers  a  satisfactory  sys- 
tem of  rules  (the  point  which  I  have  just  de- 
nied) —  nor  does  it  follow,  I  say,  from  this,  that 
the  rules  which  we  deduce  from  the  Homeric 
effects  are  to  supersede  those  immutable  prin- 
ciples of  time,  quantity,  etc.  —  the  mathematics, 
JQ.  short,  of  music  —  which  must  have  stood  to 
these  Homeric  effects  in  the  relation  of  causes 
—  the  mediate  causes  of  which  these  "  ears  and 
fingers  "  are  simply  the  intermedia. 

In  Colton's  "  American  Review  "  for  October, 
1845,  a  gentleman,  well  known  for  his  scholar- 
ship, has  a  forcible  paper  on  "  The  Scotch  School 
of  Philosophy  and  Criticism."  But,  although 
the  paper  is  "  forcible,"  it  presents  the  most 
singular  admixture  of  error  and  truth  —  the  one 
279 


MARGINALIA 

dovetailed  into  the  other,  after  a  fashion  which  is 
novel,  to  say  the  least  of  it.  Were  I  to  designate 
in  a  few  words  what  the  whole  article  demon- 
strated, I  should  say  "the  folly  of  not  begin- 
ning at  the  beginning  —  of  neglecting  the  giant 
Moulineau's  advice  to  his  friend  Ram."  Here 
is  a  passage  from  the  essay  in  question:  — 

"The  Doctors  [Campbell  and  Johnson]  both 
charged  Pope  with  error  and  inconsistency :  —  error  in 
supposing  that  in  English,  of  metrical  lines  unequal  in 
the  number  of  syllables  and  pronounced  in  equal  times, 
the  longer  suggests  celerity  (this  being  the  principle 
of  the  Alexandrine)  ;  inconsistency,  in  that  Pope  him- 
self uses  the  same  contrivance  to  convey  the  contrary 
idea  of  slowness.  But  why  in  English?  It  is  not  and 
cannot  be  disputed  that,  in  the  hexameter  verse  of  the 
Greeks  and  Latins  —  which  is  the  model  in  this  matter 
—  what  is  distinguished  as  the  '  dactylic  line '  was  uni- 
formly applied  to  express  velocity.  How  was  it  to  do 
so?  Simply  from  the  fact  of  being  pronounced  in  an 
equal  time  with,  while  containing  a  greater  number  of 
syllables  or  '  bars  '  than,  the  ordinary  or  average  meas- 
ure ;  as,  on  the  other  hand,  the  spondaic  line,  composed 
of  the  minimum  number,  was,  upon  the  same  principle, 
used  to  indicate  slowness.  So,  too,  of  the  Alexandrine 
in  English  versification.  No,  says  Campbell,  there  is  a 
difference :  the  Alexandrine  is  not  in  fact,  like  the  dacty- 
lic line,  pronounced  in  the  common  time.  But  does  this 
alter  the  principle?  What  is  the  rationale  of  Metre, 
whether  the  classical  hexameter  or  the  English  heroic  ?  " 

I  have  written  an  essay  on  the  "  Rationale  of 
Verse,"  in  which  the  whole  topic  is  surveyed  ab 
initio,  and  with  reference  to  general  and  immut- 
£80 


MARGINALIA 

able   principles.      To   this   essay   I   refer   Mr. 
Bristed.     Injbhe  mean_time,  without  troubling 
_ myself  to  ascertain :  wiietEier  .Doctors  Johnson     & 

and  Campbell  are  wrong,  or  whether  Pope  is 
wrong,  or  whether  the  reviewer  is  right  or  wrong, 
at  this  point  or  at  that,  let  me  succinctly  state 
what  is  the  truth  on  the  topics  at  issue.  And  ,  I  , 

first;  the  same  principles,  in  all  cases,  govern  all 
verse.  What  is  true  in  English  is  true  in  Greek. 
Secondly;  in  a  series  of  lines,  if  one  line  con- 
tainsT  more  syllables  than  the  law  of  the  verse  "' 
demands,  and  if,  nevertheless,  this  line  is  pro- 
nounced in  the  same  time,  upon  the  whole,  as  the 
rest  of  the  lines,  then  this  line  suggests  celerity 
—  on  account  of  the  increased  rapidity  of  enunci- 
ation required.  Thus,  in  the  Greek  hexameter, 
the  dactylic  lines  —  those  most  abounding  in 
dactyls  —  serve  best  to  convey  the  idea  of  rapid 
motion.  The  spondaic  lines  convey  that  of  slow- 
ness. Thirdly;  it  is  a  gross  mistake  to  suppose 
that  the  Greek  dactylic  line  is  "  the  model  in  this 
matter"  —  the  matter  of  the  English  Alexan- 
drine. The  Greek  dactylic  line  is  of  the  same 
number  of  feet  —  bars  —  beats  —  pulsations  — 
as  the  ordinary  dactylic-spondaic  lines  among 
which  it  occurs.  But  the  Alexandrine  is  longer 
by  one  foot  —  by  one  pulsation  —  than  the  pen- 
tameters among  which  it  arises.  For  its  pro- 
nunciation it  demands  more  time,  and  therefore, 
ceteris  paribus,  it  would  well  serve  to  convey  the 


MARGINALIA 

impression  of  length,  or  duration,  and  thus,  in- 
directly, of  slowness.  I  say  ceteris  paribus. 
But,  by  varying  conditions,  we  can  effect  a  total 
change  in  the  impression  conveyed.  When  the 
idea  of  slowness  is  conveyed  by  the  Alexan- 
drine, it  is  not  conveyed  by  any  slower  enuncia- 
tion of  syllables  —  that  is  to  say,  it  is  not  directly 
conveyed  —  but  indirectly,  through  the  idea  of 
length  in  the  whole  line.  Now,  if  we  wish  to 
convey,  by  means  of  an  Alexandrine,  the  im- 
pression of  velocity,  we  readily  do  so  by  giving 
rapidity  to  our  enunciation  of  the  syllables  com- 
posing the  several  feet.  To  effect  this,  how- 
ever, we  must  have  more  syllables,  or  we  shall 
get  through  the  whole  line  too  quickly  for  the  in- 
tended time.  To  get  more  syllables,  all  we  have 
to  do,  is  to  use,  in  place  of  iambuses,  what  our 
prosodies  call  anapaests.1  Thus  in  the  line, 

"  Flies  o'er  the  unbending  corn  and  skims  along  the 
main," 

the  syllables  "the  unbend"  form  an  anapsest, 
and,  demanding  unusual  rapidity  of  enunciation 

1 1  use  the  prosodial  word  "  anapaest,"  merely  because 
here  I  have  no  space  to  show  what  the  reviewer  will  admit 
I  have  distinctly  shown  in  the  essay  referred  to  —  viz. : 
that  the  additional  syllable  introduced,  does  not  make  the 
foot  an  anapaest,  or  the  equivalent  of  an  anapaest,  and  that, 
if  it  did,  it  would  spoil  the  line.  On  this  topic,  and  on  all 
topics  connected  with  verse,  there  is  not  a  prosody  in  ex- 
istence which  is  not  a  mere  jumble  of  the  grossest  error. 


MARGINALIA 

in  order  that  we  may  get  them  in  the  ordinary 
time  of  an  iambus,  serve  to  suggest  celerity.  By 
the  elision  of  "  e  "  in  "  the,"  as  is  customary,  the 
whole  of  the  intended  effect  is  lost ;  for  "  th'un- 
bend  "  is  nothing  more  than  the  usual  iambus. 
In  a  word,  whenever  an  Alexandrine  expresses 
celerity,  we  shall  find  it  to  contain  one  or  more 
anapaests,  —  the  more  anapaests,  the  more  de- 
cided the  impression.  But  the  tendency  of  the 
Alexandrine  consisting  merely  of  the  usual  iam- 
buses is  to  convey  slowness  —  although  it  con- 
veys this  idea  feebly,  on  account  of  conveying  it 
indirectly.  It  follows,  from  what  I  have  said, 
that  the  common  pentameter,  interspersed  with 
anapgests,  would  better  convey  celerity  than  the 
Alexandrine  interspersed  with  them  in  a  similar 
degree; — and  it  unquestionably  does. 

Strange  —  that  I  should  here1  find  the  only 
non-execrable  barbarian  attempts  at  imitation  of 
the  Greek  and  Roman  measures! 

I  have  never  yet  seen  an  English  heroic  verse 
on  the  proper  model  of  the  Greek  —  although 
there  have  been  innumerable  attempts,  among 
which  those  of  Coleridge  are,  perhaps,  the  most 
absurd,  next  to  those  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney  and 
Longfellow.  The  author  of  "The  Vision  of 
Rubeta"  has  done  better,  and  Percival  better 

1  Forelaesninger  over  det  Danske  Sprog,  eller  resonneret 
Dansk  Grammatik,  ved  Jacob  Buden. 


MARGINALIA 

yet;  but  no  one  has  seemed  to  suspect  that  the 
natural  preponderance  of  spondaic  words  in  the 
Latin  and  Greek  must,  in  the  English,  be  sup- 
plied by  art  —  that  is  to  say,  by  a  careful  culling 
of  the  few  spondaic  words  which  the  language 
affords  —  as,  for  example,  here :  — 

Man  is  a  |  complex,  |  compound,  |  compost,  |  yet  is  he 
j  God-born. 

This,  to  all  intents,  is  a  Greek  hexameter,  but 
then  its  spondees  are  spondees,  and  not  mere 
trochees.  The  verses  of  Coleridge  and  others 
are  dissonant,  for  the  simple  reason  that  there 
is  no  equality  in  time  between  a  trochee  and  a 
dactyl.  When  Sir  Philip  Sidney  writes, 

So  to  the  |  woods  Love  |  runnes  as  |  well  as  |  rides  to 
the  |  palace, 

he  makes  an  heroic  verse  only  to  the  eye;  for 
"  woods  Love  "  is  the  only  true  spondee,  "  runs 
as,"  "  well  as,"  and  "  palace,"  have  each  the  first 
syllable  long  and  the  second  short  —  that  is  to 
say,  they  are  all  trochees,  and  occupy  less  time 
than  the  dactyls  or  spondee  —  hence  the  halt- 
ing. Now,  all  this  seems  to  be  the  simplest  thing 
in  the  world,  and  the  only  wonder  is  how  men 
professing  to  be  scholars  should  attempt  to  en- 
graft a  verse,  of  which  the  spondee  is  an  ele- 
ment, upon  a  stock  which  repels  the  spondee  as 
antagonistical. 

284 


MARGINALIA 

THE  DASH 

That  punctuation  is  important  all  agree;  but 
how  few  comprehend  the  extent  of  its  impor- 
tance! The  writer  who  neglects  punctuation,  or 
mis-punctuates,  is  liable  to  be  misunderstood  — 
this,  according  to  the  popular  idea,  is  the  sum  of 
the  evils  arising  from  heedlessness  or  ignorance. 
It  does  not  seem  to  be  known  that,  even  where 
the  sense  is  perfectly  clear,  a  sentence  may  be 
deprived  of  half  its  force  —  its  spirit  —  its  point 
—  by  improper  punctuations.  For  the  want  of 
merely  a  comma,  it  often  occurs  that  an  axiom 
appears  a  paradox,  or  that  a  sarcasm  is  con- 
verted into  a  sermonoid.  There  is  no  treatise  on 
the  topic;  and  there  is  no  topic  on  which  a 
treatise  is  more  needed.  There  seems  to  exist  a 
vulgar  notion  that  the  subject  is  one  of  pure 
conventionality,  and  cannot  be  brought  within 
the  limits  of  intelligible  and  consistent  rule. 
And  yet,  if  fairly  looked  in  the  face,  the  whole 
matter  is  so  plain  that  its  rationale  may  be  read 
as  we  run.  If  not  anticipated,  I  shall  hereafter 
make  an  attempt  at  a  magazine  paper  on  "  The 
Philosophy  of  Point."  In  the  mean  time  let 
me  say  a  word  or  two  of  the  dash.  Every  writer 
for  the  press,  who  has  any  sense  of  the  accurate, 
must  have  been  frequently  mortified  and  vexed 
at  the  distortion  of  his  sentences  by  the  print- 
er's now  general  substitution  of  a  semicolon,  or 
comma,  for  the  dash  of  the  manuscript.  The 
285 


MARGINALIA 

total,  or  nearly  total,  disuse  of  the  latter  point  has 
been  brought  about  by  the  revulsion  consequent 
upon  its  excessive  employment  about  twenty 
years  ago.  The  Byronic  poets  were  all  dash. 
John  Neal,  in  his  earlier  novels,  exaggerated  its 
use  into  the  grossest  abuse;  although  his  very 
error  arose  from  the  philosophical  and  self-de- 
pendent spirit  which  has  always  distinguished 
him,  and  which  will  even  yet  lead  him,  if  I  am  not 
greatly  mistaken  in  the  man,  to  do  something  for 
the  literature  of  the  country  which  the  country 
"  will  not  willingly,"  and  cannot  possibly,  "  let 
die."  Without  entering  now  into  the  why,  let  me 
observe  that  the  printer  may  always  ascertain 
when  the  dash  of  the  manuscript  is  properly  and 
when  improperly  employed,  by  bearing  in  mind 
that  this  point  represents  a  second  thought  —  an 
emendation.  In  using  it  just  above  I  have  ex- 
emplified its  use.  The  words  "  an  emendation  " 
are,  speaking  with  reference  to  grammatical  con- 
struction, put  in  apposition  with  the  words  "a 
second  thought."  Having  written  these  latter 
words,  I  reflected  whether  it  would  not  be  pos- 
sible to  render  their  meaning  more  distinct  by 
certain  other  words.  Now,  instead  of  erasing 
the  phrase  "  a  second  thought,"  which  is  of  some 
use  —  which  partially  conveys  the  idea  intended 
—  which  advances  me  a  step  toward  my  full  pur- 
pose—  I  suffer  it  to  remain,  and  merely  put  a 
dash  between  it  and  the  phrase  "  an  emendation." 
286 


MARGINALIA 

The  dash  gives  the  reader  a  choice  between  two, 
or  among  three  or  more  expressions,  one  of  which 
may  be  more  forcible  than  another,  but  all  of 
which  help  out  the  idea.  It  stands,  in  general, 
for  these  words  —  "or,  to  make  my  meaning 
more  distinct."  This  force  it  has  —  and  this 
force  no  other  point  can  have;  since  all  other 
points  have  well-understood  uses  quite  different 
from  this.  Therefore,  the  dash  cannot  be  dis- 
pensed with.  It  has  its  phases  —  its  variation 
of  the  force  described;  but  the  one  principle  — 
that  of  second  thought  or  emendation — will  be 
found  at  the  bottom  of  all. 

INVERSION 

"  There  lies  a  deep  and  sealed  well 

Within  yon  leafy  forest  hid, 
Whose  pent  and  lonely  waters  swell 
Its  confines  chill  and  drear  amid" 

This  putting  the  adjective  after  the  noun  is, 
merely,  an  inexcusable  Gallicism;  but  the  put- 
ting the  preposition  after  the  noun  is  alien  to  all 
language,  and  in  opposition  to  all  its  principles. 
Such  things,  in  general,  serve  only  to  betray  the 
versifier's  poverty  of  resource;  and,  when  an  in- 
version of  this  kind  occurs,  we  say  to  ourselves, 
"  Here  the  poet  lacked  the  skill  to  make  out  his 
line  without  distorting  the  natural  or  colloquial 
order  of  the  words."  Now  and  then,  however, 
we  must  refer  the  error  not  to  deficiency  of  skill, 
287 


-e/^i 
r 


MARGINALIA 

but  to  something  far  less  defensible  —  to  an  idea 
that  such  things  belong  to  the  essence  of  poetry 

—  that  it  needs  them  to  distinguish  it  from  prose 

—  that  we  are  poetical,  in  a  word,  very  much 
in  the  ratio  of  our  unprosaicalness  at  these  points. 
Even  while  employing  the  phrase  "poetic  li- 
cense "  —  a  phrase  which  has  to  answer  for  an 
infinity  of  sins  —  people  who  think  in  this  way 

.  seem  to  have  an  indistinct  conviction  that  the 

\  ^license  in  question  involves  a  necessity  of  being 
I  adopted.  The  true  artist  will  avail  himself  of 
no  "  ^cense  "  whatever.  The  very  word  will  dis- 
gust  him;  for  it  says  —  "  Since  you  seem  unable 
to  manage  without  these  peccadillo  advantages, 
you  must  have  them,  I  suppose;  and  the  world, 
half-shutting  its  eyes,  will  do  its  best  not  to  see 
the  awkwardness  which  they  stamp  upon  your 
poem." 

Few  things  have  greater  tendency  than  in- 
version to  render  verse  feeble  and  ineffective. 
In  most  cases  where  a  line  is  spoken  of  as  "  for- 
cible," the  force  may  be  referred  to  directness  of 
expression.  A  vast  majority  of  the  passages 
which  have  become  household  through  frequent 
quotation  owe  their  popularity  either  to  this  di- 
rectness, or,  in  general,  to  the  scorn  of  "  poetic 
license."  In  short,  as  regards  verbal  construc- 
tion, the  more  prosaic  a  poetical  style  is,  the  bet- 
ter. Through  this  species  of  prosaicism,  Cowper, 
with  scarcely  one  of  the  higher  poetical  elements, 
288 


MARGINALIA 

came  very  near  making  his  age  fancy  him  the 
equal  of  Pope ;  and  to  the  same  cause  are  attrib- 
utable three-fourths  of  that  unusual  point  and 
force  for  which  Moore  is  distinguished.  It  is 
the  prosaicism  of  these  two  writers  to  which  is 
owing  their  especial  quotdbility. 

RHETORIC 


'  For  all  the  rhetorician's  rules 
Teach  nothing  but  to  name  the  tools." 


Hudibras. 


What  these  oft-quoted  lines  go  to  show  is, 
that  a  falsity  in  verse  will  travel  faster  and  en- 
dure longer  than  a  falsity  in  prose.  The  man 
who  would  sneer  or  stare  at  a  silly  proposition 
nakedly  put,  will  admit  that  "there  is  a  good 
deal  in  that"  when  "that"  is  the  point  of  an 
epigram  shot  into  the  ear.  The  rhetorician's 
rules  —  if  they  are  rules,  teach  him  not  only  to 
name  his  tools,  but  to  use  his  tools,  the  capacity 
of  his  tools,  their  extent,  their  limit;  and  from 
an  examination  of  the  nature  of  the  tools  (an 
examination  forced  on  him  by  their  constant 
presence) ,  force  him,  also,  into  scrutiny  and  com- 
prehension of  the  material  on  which  the  tools  are 
employed,  and  thus,  finally,  suggest  and  give 
birth  to  new  material  for  new  tools. 

BROUGHAM 

That  Lord  Brougham  was  an  extraordinary 
289 


MARGINALIA 

man  no  one  in  his  senses  will  deny.  An  intellect 
of  unusual  capacity,  goaded  into  diseased  action 
by  passions  nearly  ferocious,  enabled  him  to 
astonish  the  world,  and  especially  the  "hero- 
worshippers,"  as  the  author  of  "  Sartor  Resar- 
tus  "  has  it,  by  the  combined  extent  and  variety 
of  his  mental  triumphs.  Attempting  many 
things,  it  may  at  least  be  said  that  he  egregi- 
ously  failed  in  none.  But  that  he  pre-eminently 
excelled  in  any  cannot  be  affirmed  with  truth, 
and  might  well  be  denied  a  priori.  We  have  no 
faith  in  Admirable  Crichtons,  and  this  merely 
because  we  have  implicit  faith  in  Nature  and  her 
laws.  "  He  that  is  born  to  be  a  man,"  says  Wie- 
land,  in  his  Peregrinus  Proteus,  "  neither  should 
nor  can  be  anything  nobler,  greater,  or  better 
than  a  man."  The  Broughams  of  the  human  in- 
tellect are  never  its  Newtons  or  its  Bayles.  Yet 
the  contemporaneous  reputation  to  be  acquired 
by  the  former  is  naturally  greater  than  any  which 
the  latter  may  attain.  The  versatility  of  one 
whom  we  see  and  hear  is  a  more  dazzling  and 
more  readily  appreciable  merit  than  his  pro- 
fundity; which  latter  is  best  estimated  in  the 
silence  of  the  closet,  and  after  the  quiet  lapse 
of  years.  What  impression  Lord  Brougham 
has  stamped  upon  his  age,  cannot  be  accurately 
determined  until  Time  has  fixed  and  rendered 
definite  the  lines  of  the  medal;  and  fifty  years 
hence  it  will  be  difficult,  perhaps,  to  make  out 
290 


MARGINALIA 

the  deepest  indentation  of  the  exergue.  Like 
Coleridge  he  should  be  regarded  as  one  who 
might  have  done  much,  had  he  been  satisfied 
with  attempting  but  little. 

"  MESMERIC  REVELATION  "  AND  "  M.  VALDE- 
MAE  "  IN  LONDON 

One  of  the  happiest  examples,  in  a  small  way, 
of  the  carrying-one's-self-in-a-hand-basket  logic, 
is  to  be  found  in  a  London  weekly  paper,  called 
"The  Popular  Record  of  Modern  Science;  a 
Journal  of  Philosophy  and  General  Informa- 
tion." This  work  has  a  vast  circulation,  and  is 
respected  by  eminent  men.  Some  time  in 
November,  1845,  it  copied  from  the  "  Colum- 
bian Magazine,"  of  New  York,  a  rather  ad- 
venturous article  of  mine,  called  "Mesmeric 
Revelation."  It  had  the  impudence,  also,  to 
spoil  the  title  by  improving  it  to  "  The  Last 
Conversation  of  a  Somnambule  "  —  a  phrase  that 
is  nothing  at  all  to  the  purpose,  since  the  person 
who  "  converses  "  is  not  a  somnambule.  He  is  a 
sleep-waker  —  not  a  sleep-walker;  but  I  pre- 
sume that  the  "  Record  "  thought  it  was  only  the 
difference  of  an  I.  What  I  chiefly  complain  of, 
however,  is  that  the  London  editor  prefaced  my 
paper  with  these  words:  —  "  The  following  is  an 
article  communicated  to  the  *  Columbian  Maga- 
zine,' a  journal  of  respectability  and  influence 
in  the  United  States,  by  Mr.  Edgar  A.  Poe. 
291 


MARGINALIA 

It  bears  internal  evidence  of  authenticity!" 
There  is  no  subject  under  heaven  about  which 
funnier  ideas  are,  in  general,  entertained  than 
about  this  subject  of  internal  evidence.  It  is 
by  "  internal  evidence,"  observe,  that  we  decide 
upon  the  mind.  But  to  the  "Record:" — On 
the  issue  of  my  "  Valdemar  Case,"  this  journal 
copies  it,  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  (also  as  a 
matter  of  course)  improves  the  title,  as  in  the 
previous  instance.  But  the  editorial  comments 
may  as  well  be  called  profound.  Here  they 
are:  — 

"  The  following  narrative  appears  in  a  recent  number 
of  the  '  American  Magazine,'  a  respectable  periodical  in 
the  United  States.  It  comes,  it  will  be  observed,  from 
the  narrator  of  the  '  Last  Conversation  of  a  Somnam- 
bule,'  published  in  the  '  Record '  of  the  29th  of  Novem- 
ber. In  extracting  this  case,  the  '  Morning  Post,'  of 
Monday  last,  takes  what  it  considers  the  safe  side,  by 
remarking  —  *  For  our  own  parts  we  do  not  believe  it ; 
and  there  are  several  statements  made,  more  especially 
with  regard  to  the  disease  of  which  the  patient  died, 
which  at  once  prove  the  case  to  be  either  a  fabrication, 
or  the  work  of  one  little  acquainted  with  consumption. 
The  story,  however,  is  wonderful,  and  we  therefore  give 
it.'  The  editor,  however,  does  not  point  out  the  especial 
statements  which  are  inconsistent  with  what  we  know  of 
the  progress  of  consumption,  and  as  few  scientific  per- 
sons would  be  willing  to  take  their  pathology  any  more 
than  their  logic  from  the  '  Morning  Post,'  his  caution, 
it  is  to  be  feared,  will  not  have  much  weight.  The  reason 
assigned  by  the  *  Post '  for  publishing  the  account  is 
quaint,  and  would  apply  equally  to  an  adventure  from 
292 


MARGINALIA 

Baron  Munchausen :  —  *  it  is  wonderful  and  we  there- 
fore give  it.'  .  .  .  The  above  case  is  obviously  one  that 
cannot  be  received  except  on  the  strongest  testimony, 
and  it  is  equally  clear  that  the  testimony  by  which  it  is 
at  present  accompanied  is  not  of  that  character.  The 
most  favorable  circumstances  in  support  of  it  consist 
in  the  fact  that  credence  is  understood  to  be  given  to 
it  at  New  York,  within  a  few  miles  of  which  city  the 
affair  took  place,  and  where  consequently  the  most 
ready  means  must  be  found  for  its  authentication  or 
disproval.  The  initials  of  the  medical  men  and  of  the 
young  medical  student  must  be  sufficient,  in  the  im- 
mediate locality,  to  establish  their  identity,  especially 
as  M.  Valdemar  was  well  known,  and  had  been  so  long 
ill  as  to  render  it  out  of  the  question  that  there  should 
be  any  difficulty  in  ascertaining  the  names  of  the 
physicians  by  whom  he  had  been  attended.  In  the  same 
way  the  nurses  and  servants,  under  whose  cognizance 
the  case  must  have  come  during  the  seven  months  which 
it  occupied,  are  of  course  accessible  to  all  sorts  of  in- 
quiries. It  will,  therefore,  appear  that  there  must  have 
been  too  many  parties  concerned  to  render  prolonged 
deception  practicable.  The  angry  excitement  and 
various  rumors  which  have  at  length  rendered  a  public 
statement  necessary,  are  also  sufficient  to  show  that 
something  extraordinary  must  have  taken  place.  On 
the  other  hand  there  is  no  strong  point  for  disbelief. 
The  circumstances  are,  as  the  '  Post '  says,  *  wonder- 
ful ; '  but  so  are  all  circumstances  that  come  to  our 
knowledge  for  the  first  time  —  and  in  Mesmerism  every- 
thing is  new.  An  objection  may  be  made  that  the  arti- 
cle has  rather  a  magazinish  air;  Mr.  Poe  having 
evidently  written  with  a  view  to  effect,  and  so  as  to  ex- 
cite rather  than  to  subdue  the  vague  appetite  for  the 
mysterious  and  the  horrible  which  such  a  case,  under 
293 


MARGINALIA 

any  circumstances,  is  sure  to  awaken;  but  apart  from 
this  there  is  nothing  to  deter  a  philosophic  mind  from 
further  inquiries  regarding  it.  It  is  a  matter  entirely, 
for  testimony.  [So  it  is.]  Under  this  view  we  shall 
take  steps  to  procure  from  some  of  the  most  intelligent 
and  influential  citizens  of  New  York  all  the  evidence 
that  can  be  had  upon  the  subject.  No  steamer  will 
leave  England  for  America  till  the  third  of  February, 
but  within  a  few  weeks  of  that  time  we  doubt  not  it  will 
be  possible  to  lay  before  the  readers  of  the  *  Record  '  in- 
formation which  will  enable  them  to  come  to  a  pretty 
accurate  conclusion." 

Yes;  and  no  doubt  they  came  to  one  accurate 
enough,  in  the  end.  But  all  this  rigmarole  is 
what  people  call  testing  a  thing  by  "internal 
evidence."  The  "  Record  "  insists  upon  the  truth 
of  the  story  because  of  certain  facts  —  because 
"  the  initials  of  the  young  men  must  be  suffi- 
cient to  establish  their  identity  "  —  because  "  the 
nurses  must  be  accessible  to  all  sorts  of  inquiries  " 

—  and  because  the  "  angry  excitement  and  vari- 
ous rumors  which  at  length  rendered  a  public 
statement  necessary,  are  sufficient  to  show  that 
something  extraordinary  must  have  taken  place." 
To  be  sure!    The  story  is  proved  by  these  facts 

—  the  facts  about  the  students,  the  nurses,  the 
excitement,  the  credence  given  the  tale  at  New 
York.    And  now  all  we  have  to  do  is  to  prove 
these  facts.    Ah!  —  they  are  proved  by  the  story. 
As  for  the  "Morning  Post,"  it  evinces  more 
weakness  in  its  disbelief  than  the  "  Record  "  in 

294 


MARGINALIA 

its  credulity.  What  the  former  says  about 
doubting  on  account  of  inaccuracy  in  the  detail 
of  the  phthisical  symptoms,  is  a  mere  "  fetch," 
as  the  Cockneys  have  it,  in  order  to  make  a  very 
few  little  children  believe  that  it,  the  "  Post,"  is 
not  quite  so  stupid  as  a  post  proverbially  is.  It 
knows  nearly  as  much  about  pathology  as  it  does 
about  English  grammar  —  and  I  really  hope  it 
will  not  feel  called  upon  to  blush  at  the  compli- 
ment. I  represented  the  symptoms  of  M.  Val- 
demar  as  "severe,"  to  be  sure.  I  put  an  ex- 
treme case;  for  it  was  necessary  that  I  should 
leave  on  the  reader's  mind  no  doubt  as  to  the 
certainty  of  death  without  the  aid  of  the  Mes- 
merist ;  but  such  symptoms  might  have  appeared, 
the  identical  symptoms  have  appeared,  and  will 
be  presented  again  and  again.  Had  the  "  Post " 
been  only  half  as  honest  as  ignorant,  it  would 
have  owned  that  it  disbelieved  for  no  reason 
more  profound  than  that  which  influences  all 
dunces  in  disbelieving  —  it  would  have  owned 
that  it  doubted  the  thing  merely  because  the 
thing  was  a  "  wonderful "  thing,  and  had  never 
yet  been  printed  in  a  book. 

The  Swedenborgians  inform  me  that  they 
have  discovered  all  that  I  said  in  a  magazine 
article,  entitled  "Mesmeric  Revelation,"  to  be 
absolutely  true,  although  at  first  they  were  very 
strongly  inclined  to  doubt  my  veracity  —  a  thing 
295 


MARGINALIA 

which,  in  that  particular  instance,  I  never 
dreamed  of  not  doubting  myself.  The  story  is 
a  pure  fiction  from  beginning  to  end. 

PLAGIARISM 

In  my  reply  to  the  letter  signed  "  Outis  "  and 
defending  Mr.  Longfellow  from  certain  charges 
supposed  to  have  been  made  against  him  by  my- 
self, I  took  occasion  to  assert  that  "  of  the  class 
of  wilful  plagiarists  nine  out  of  ten  are  authors 
of  established  reputation  who  plunder  recondite, 
neglected,  or  forgotten  books."  I  came  to  this 
conclusion  a  priori;  but  experience  has  confirmed 
me  in  it.  Here  is  a  plagiarism  from  Channing; 
and  as  it  is  perpetrated  by  an  anonymous  writer 
in  a  monthly  magazine,  the  theft  seems  at  war 
with  my  assertion  —  until  it  is  seen  that  the  mag- 
azine in  question  is  Campbell's  "  New  Monthly  " 
for  August,  1828.  Channing,  at  that  time,  was 
comparatively  unknown;  and,  besides,  the  plagi- 
arism appeared  in  a  foreign  country,  where  there 
was  little  probability  of  detection.  Channing, 
in  his  essay  on  Buonaparte,  says :  — 

"  We  would  observe  that  military  talent,  even  of  the 
highest  order,  is  far  from  holding  the  first  place  among 
intellectual  endowments.  It  is  one  of  the  lower  forms  of 
genius,  for  it  is  not  conversant  with  the  highest  and 
richest  objects  of  thought.  .  .  .  Still  the  chief  work 
of  a  general  is  to  apply  physical  force  —  to  remove 
physical  obstructions  —  to  avail  himself  of  physical 
296 


MARGINALIA 

aids  and  advantages  —  to  act  on  matter  —  to  over- 
come rivers,  ramparts,  mountains,  and  human  mus- 
cles; and  these  are  not  the  highest  objects  of  mind, 
nor  do  they  demand  intelligence  of  the  highest  order :  — 
and  accordingly  nothing  is  more  common  than  to  find 
men,  eminent  in  this  department,  who  are  almost  wholly 
wanting  in  the  noblest  energies  of  the  soul  —  in  im- 
agination and  taste,  in  the  capacity  of  enjoying  works 
of  genius,  in  large  views  of  human  nature,  in  the  moral 
sciences,  in  the  application  of  analysis  and  generaliza- 
tion to  the  human  mind  and  to  society,  and  in  original 
conceptions  on  the  great  subjects  which  have  absorbed 
the  most  glorious  understandings." 

The  thief  in  the  "  New  Monthly  "  says:  — 

"  Military  talent,  even  of  the  highest  grade,  is  very 
far  from  holding  the  first  place  among  intellectual  en- 
dowments. It  is  one  of  the  lower  forms  of  genius,  for  it 
is  never  made  conversant  with  the  more  delicate  and 
abstruse  of  mental  operations.  It  is  used  to  apply 
physical  force;  to  remove  physical  force;  to  remove 
physical  obstructions;  to  avail  itself  of  physical  aids 
and  advantages ;  and  all  these  are  not  the  highest  ob- 
jects of  mind,  nor  do  they  demand  intelligence  of  the 
highest  and  rarest  order.  Nothing  is  more  common 
than  to  find  men  eminent  in  the  science  and  practice  of 
war  wholly  wanting  in  the  nobler  energies  of  the  soul; 
in  imagination,  in  taste,  in  enlarged  views  of  human 
nature,  in  the  moral  sciences,  in  the  application  of 
analysis  and  generalization  to  the  human  mind  and  to 
society;  or  in  original  conceptions  on  the  great  sub- 
jects which  have  occupied  and  absorbed  the  most  glori- 
ous of  human  understandings." 

The  article  in  the  "New  Monthly"   is  on 
297 


MARGINALIA 

"  The  State  of  Parties."  The  italics  are  mine. 
Apparent  plagiarisms  frequently  arise  from  an 
author's  self-repetition.  He  finds  that  some- 
thing he  has  already  published  has  fallen  dead 
• — been  overlooked  —  or  that  it  is  peculiarly 
apropos  to  another  subject  now  under  discussion. 
He  therefore  introduces  the  passage,  often  with- 
out allusion  to  his  having  printed  it  before;  and 
sometimes  he  introduces  it  into  an  anonymous 
article.  An  anonymous  writer  is  thus,  now  and 
then,  unjustly  accused  of  plagiarism  —  when  the 
sin  is  merely  that  of  self -repetition.  In  the  pres- 
ent case,  however,  there  has  been  a  deliberate 
plagiarism  of  the  silliest  as  well  as  meanest 
species.  Trusting  to  the  obscurity  of  his  original, 
the  plagiarist  has  fallen  upon  the  idea  of  kill- 
ing two  birds  with  one  stone  —  of  dispensing 
with  all  disguise  but  that  of  decoration.  Chan- 
ning says  "order;"  the  writer  in  the  "New 
Monthly  "  says  "  grade."  "  The  former  says  that 
this  order  is  "  far  from  holding,"  etc. ;  the  lat- 
ter says  it  is  "  very  far  from  holding."  The  one 
says  that  military  talent  is  "  not  conversant,"  and 
so  on ;  the  other  says  "it  is  never  made  conver- 
sant." The  one  speaks  of  "the  highest  and 
richest  objects;  "  the  other  of  "  the  more  delicate 
and  abstruse."  Channing  speaks  of  "  thought ;  " 
the  thief  of  "mental  operations."  Channing 
mentions  "intelligence  of  the  highest  order;" 
the  thief  will  have  it  of  "  the  highest  and  rarest." 
298 


MARGINALIA 

Charming  observes  that  military  talent  is  often 
"almost  wholly  wanting,"  etc.;  the  thief  main- 
tains it  to  be  "  wholly  wanting."  Charming  al- 
ludes to  "large  views  of  human  nature;"  the 
thief  can  be  content  with  nothing  less  than  "  en- 
larged "  ones.  Finally,  the  American  having 
been  satisfied  with  a  reference  to  "  subjects  which 
have  absorbed  the  most  glorious  understand- 
ings," the  Cockney  puts  him  to  shame  at  once 
by  discoursing  about  "  subjects  which  have  oc- 
cupied and  absorbed  the  most  glorious  of  human 
understandings  "  —  as  if  one  could  be  absorbed, 
without  being  occupied,  by  a  subject,  as  if  "  of  " 
were  here  anything  more  than  two  superfluous 
letters,  and  as  if  there  were  any  chance  of  the 
reader's  supposing  that  the  understandings  in 
question  were  the  understandings  of  frogs,  or 
jackasses,  or  Johnny  Bulls. 

By  the  way,  in  a  case  of  this  kind,  whenever 
there  is  a  question  as  to  who  is  the  original  and 
who  the  plagiarist,  the  point  may  be  determined, 
almost  invariably,  by  observing  which  passage  is 
amplified,  or  exaggerated,  in  tone.  To  disguise 
his  stolen  horse,  the  uneducated  thief  cuts  off  the 
tail;  but  the  educated  thief  prefers  tying  on  a 
new  tail  at  the  end  of  the  old  one,  and  painting 
them  both  sky  blue. 

One  of  our  truest  poets  is  Thomas  Buchanan 
Read.  His  most  distinctive  features  are,  first, 
"  tenderness,"  or  subdued  passion,  and,  secondly, 
299 


MARGINALIA 

fancy.  His  sin  is  imitativeness.  At  present ,  al- 
though evincing  high  capacity,  he  is  but  a  copy- 
ist of  Longfellow  —  that  is  to  say,  but  the  echo 
of  an  echo.  Here  is  a  beautiful  thought  which 
is  not  the  property  of  Mr.  Read:  — 

"  And,  where  the  spring-time  sun  had  longer  shone, 
A  violet  looked  up  and  -found  itself  alone." 

Here  again:  a  spirit 

"  Slowly  through  the  lake  descended, 
Till  from  her  hidden  form  below 
The  waters  took  a  golden  glow, 
As  if  the  star  which  made  her  forehead  bright 
Had  burst  and  filled  the  lake  with  light." 

Lowell  has  some  lines  very  similar,  ending 
with 

"  As  if  a  star  had  burst  within  his  brain." 

In  a  "Hymn  for  Christmas,"  by  Mrs.  He- 
mans,  we  find  the  following  stanza :  — 

"  Oh,  lovely  voices  of  the  sky 

Which  hymned  the  Saviour's  birth, 
Are  ye  not  singing  still  on  high, 

Ye  that  sang  *  Peace  on  Earth  '  ? 
To  us  yet  speak  the  strains 

Wherewith,  in  times  gone  by, 
Ye  blessed  the  Syrian  swains, 

O  voices  of  the  sky ! " 

And  at  page  305  of  "The  Christian  Keep- 
sake  and   Missionary   Annual   for   1840  "  —  a 
Philadelphia  Annual  —  we  find  "  A  Christmas 
300 


MARGINALIA 

Carol,"   by    Richard   W.   Dodson:— the   first 
stanza  running  thus :  — 

"Angel  voices  of  the  sky! 

Ye  that  hymned  Messiah's  birth, 
Sweetly  singing  from  on  high 

'  Peace,  Goodwill  to  all  on  earth ! ' 
Oh,  to  us  impart  those  strains! 

Bid  our  doubts  and  fears  to  cease ! 
Ye  that  cheered  the  Syrian  swains, 

Cheer  us  with  that  song  of  peace ! " 

A  rather  bold  and  quite  unnecessary  plagia- 
rism—  from  a  book  too  well  known  to  promise 
impunity:  — 

"  It  is  now  full  time  to  begin  to  brush  away  the  in- 
sects of  literature,  whether  creeping  or  fluttering,  which 
have  too  long  crawled  over  and  soiled  the  intellectual 
ground  of  this  country.  It  is  high  time  to  shake  the 
little  sickly  stems  of  many  a  puny  plant,  and  make  its 
fading  flowerets  fall."  —  Monthly  Register  (New  York, 
1807),  ii.  243. 

On  the  other  hand  — 

"  I  have  brushed  away  the  insects  of  literature, 
whether  fluttering  or  creeping;  I  have  shaken  the  little 
stems  of  many  a  puny  plant,  and  the  flowerets  have 
fallen."  —  Preface  to  "  The  Pursuits  of  Literature." 

A  long  time  ago  —  twenty-three  or  four 
years  at  least  —  Edward  C.  Pinckney,  of  Balti- 
more, published  an  exquisite  poem  entitled  "A 
Health."  It  was  profoundly  admired  by  the 
critical  few,  but  had  little  circulation:  —  this  for 
301 


MARGINALIA 

no  better  reason  than  that  the  author  was  born 
too  far  South.    I  quote  a  few  lines : 

"  Affections  are  as  thoughts  to  her, 

The  measures  of  her  hours; 
Her  feelings  have  the  fragrancy, 
The  freshness  of  young  flowers; 

"  To  whom  the  better  elements 

And  kindly  stars  have  given 
A  form  so  fair,  that  like  the  air, 
9T  is  less  of  earth  than  heaven" 

Now,  in  1842,  Mr.  George  Hill  published 
"  The  Ruins  of  Athens  and  Other  Poems,"  — 
and  from  one  of  the  "Other  Poems"  I  quote 
what  follows :  — > 

"  And  thoughts  go  sporting  through  her  mind 

Like  children  among  flowers; 
And  deeds  of  gentle  goodness  are 

The  measures  of  her  hours. 
"  In  soul  or  face  she  bears  no  trace 

Of  one  from  Eden  driven, 
But  like  the  rainbow  seems,  though  born 
Of  earth,  a  part  of  heaven." 

Is  this  plagiarism  or  is  it  not?  —  I  merely  ask 
for  information. 

With  the  aid  of  a  lantern,  I  have  been  looking 
again  at  "Niagara  and  other  Poems"  (Lord 
only  knows  if  that  be  the  true  title)  — but 
"  there  's  nothing  in  it;  "  at  least  nothing  of  Mr. 
Lord's  own  —  nothing  which  is  not  stolen — or 


MARGINALIA 

(more  delicately)  transfused  —  transmitted.  By 
the  way,  Newton  says  a  great  deal  about  "  fits 
of  easy  transmission  and  reflection,"  and  I  have 
no  doubt  that  "  Niagara  "  was  put  together  in 
one  of  these  identical  fits. 

Fellows  who  really  have  no  right  —  some  in- 
dividuals have  —  to  purloin  the  property  of  their 
predecessors.  Mere  buzzards;  or,  in  default  of 
that,  mere  pechingzies  —  the  species  of  creatures 
that  they  tell  us  of  in  the  Persian  Compendiums 
of  Natural  History  —  animals  very  soft  and 
very  sly,  with  ears  of  such  length  that,  while  one 
answers  for  a  bed,  the  other  is  all  that  is  neces- 
sary for  a  counterpane.  A  race  of  dolts  — 
literary  Cacuses,  whose  clumsily  stolen  bulls 
never  fail  of  leaving  behind  them  ample  evidence 
of  having  been  dragged  into  the  thief -den  by  the 
tail. 

EMEBSON 

When  I  consider  the  true  talent  —  the  real 
force  of  Mr.  Emerson,  I  am  lost  in  amazement  at 
finding  in  him  little  more  than  a  respectful  imita- 
tion of  Carlyle.  Is  it  possible  that  Mr.  Emerson 
has  ever  seen  a  copy  of  Seneca?  Scarcely  —  or 
he  would  long  ago  have  abandoned  his  model  in 
utter  confusion  at  the  parallel  between  his  own 
worship  of  the  author  of  "  Sartor  Resartus  "  and 
the  aping  of  Sallust  by  Aruntius,  as  described 
303 


MARGINALIA 

in  the  114th  Epistle.  In  the  writer  of  the  "  His- 
tory of  the  Punic  Wars  "  Emerson  is  portrayed 
to  the  life.  The  parallel  is  close ;  for  not  only  is 
the  imitation  of  the  same  character,  but  the  things 
imitated  are  identical.  Undoubtedly  it  is  to  be 
said  of  Sallust,  far  more  plausibly  than  of  Car- 
lyle,  that  his  obscurity,  his  unusuality  of  expres- 
sion, and  his  Laconism  (which  had  the  effect  of 
diffuseness,  since  the  time  gained  in  the  mere 
perusal  of  his  pithinesses  is  trebly  lost  in  the 
necessity  of  cogitating  them  out)  — it  may  be 
said  of  Sallust  more  truly  than  of  Carlyle,  that 
these  qualities  bore  the  impress  of  his  genius  and 
were  but  a  portion  of  his  unaffected  thought.  If 
there  is  any  difference  between  Aruntius  and 
Emerson,  this  difference  is  clearly  in  favor  of  the 
former,  who  was  in  some  measure  excusable,  on 
the  ground  that  he  was  as  great  a  fool  as  the  lat- 
ter is  not. 

COXE'S  "  SAUL  " 

"  The  Reverend  Arthur  Coxe's  '  Saul,  a  Mystery,' 
having  been  condemned  in  no  measured  terms  by  Poe,  of 
the  '  Broadway  Journal,'  and  Green  of  the  '  Emporium,' 
a  writer  in  the  Hartford  '  Columbian '  retorts  as  fol- 
lows: 

'  An  entertaining  history, 

Entitled  "  Saul,  a  Mystery/' 

Has  recently  been  published  by  the  Reverend  Arthur  Coxe. 
The  poem  is  dramatic, 
And  the  wit  of  it  is  Attic, 

And  its  teachings  are  emphatic  of  the  doctrines  orthodox. 
304 


MARGINALIA 

'  But  Mr.  Poe,  the  poet, 

Declares  he  cannot  go  it  — 
That  the  book  is  very  stupid,  or  something  of  that  sort. 

And  Green,  of  the  Empori- 

Um,  tells  a  kindred  story, 
And  swears  like  any  Tory  that  it  is  n't  worth  a  groat. 

'  But  maugre  all  the  croaking 

Of  the  Raven  and  the  joking 

Of  the  verdant  little  fellow  of  the  used-to-be  Review, 
The  People,  in  derision 
Of  their  impudent  decision, 

Have  declared,  without  division,  that  the  "  Mystery  "  will 
do/  " 

The  truth,  of  course,  rather  injures  an  epigram 
than  otherwise ;  and  nobody  will  think  the  worse 
of  the  one  above,  when  I  say  that,  at  the  date  of 
its  first  appearance,  I  had  expressed  no  opinion 
whatever  of  the  poem  to  which  it  refers.  "  Give 
a  dog  a  bad  name,"  etc.  Whenever  a  book  is 
abused,  people  take  it  for  granted  that  it  is  I 
who  have  been  abusing  it. 

Latterly  I  have  read  "  Saul,"  and  agree  with 
the  epigrammatist,  that  it  "  will  do  "  —  whoever 
attempts  to  wade  through  it.  It  will  do,  also, 
for  trunk-paper.  The  author  is  right  in  calling 
it  "A  Mystery;  "  for  a  most  unfathomable  mys- 
tery it  is.  When  I  got  to  the  end  of  it,  I  found 
it  more  mysterious  than  ever  —  and  it  was  really 
a  mystery  how  I  ever  did  get  to  the  end  —  which 
I  half  fancied  that  somebody  had  cut  off,  in  a 
fit  of  ill-will  to  the  critics.  I  have  heard  not  a  syl- 
lable about  the  "  Mystery,"  of  late  days.  "  The 
305 


MARGINALIA 

People "  seem  to  Have  forgotten  it ;  and  Mr. 
Coxe's  friends  should  advertise  it  under  the  head 
of  "  Mysterious  Disappearance  "  —  that  is  to 
say,  the  disappearance  of  a  Mystery. 

ART 

To  see  distinctly  the  machinery  —  the  wheels 
and  pinions  —  of  any  work  of  art  is,  unquestion- 
ably, of  itself,  a  pleasure,  but  one  which  we  are 
able  to  enjoy  only  just  in  proportion  as  we  do 
not  enjoy  the  legitimate  effect  designed  by  the 
artist;  and,  in  fact,  it  too  often  happens  that  to 
reflect  analytically  upon  art  is  to  reflect  after  the 
fashion  of  the  mirrors  in  the  temple  of  Smyrna, 
which  represent  the  fairest  images  as  deformed. 

"  ELLEN  MIDDLETON  " 

A  remarkable  work,  and  one  which  I  find 
much  difficulty  in  admitting  to  be  the  composi- 
tion of  a  woman.  Not  that  many  good  and  glori- 
ous things  have  not  been  the  composition  of  wo- 
men —  but  because,  here,  the  severe  precision  of 
style,  the  thoroughness,  and  the  luminousness, 
are  points  never  observable,  in  even  the  most 
admirable  of  their  writings.  Who  is  Lady 
Georgiana  Fullerton?  Who  is  that  Countess 
of  Dacre,  who  edited  "  Ellen  Wareham,"  —  the 
most  passionate  of  fictions  —  approached  only  in 
some  particulars  of  passion  by  this?  The  great 
306 


MARGINALIA 

defect  of  "  Ellen  Middleton  "  lies  in  the  disgust- 
ing sternness,  captiousness,  and  bullet-headedness 
of  her  husband.  We  cannot  sympathize  with  her 
love  for  him.  And  the  intense  selfishness  of  the 
rejected  lover  precludes  that  compassion  which  is 
designed.  Alice  is  a  creation  of  true  genius. 
The  imagination,  throughout,  is  of  a  lofty  or- 
der, and  the  snatches  of  original  verse  would 
do  honor  to  any  poet  living.  But  the  chief  merit, 
after  all,  is  that  of  the  style  —  about  which  it  is 
difficult  to  say  too  much  in  the  way  of  praise, 
although  it  has,  now  and  then,  an  odd  Gallicism 
—  such  as  "  she  lost  her  head,"  meaning  she  grew 
crazy.  There  is  much,  in  the  whole  manner  of 
this  book,  which  puts  me  in  mind  of  "  Caleb 
Williams." 

FOUQUE 

This  book  ["Thiodolf,  the  Icelander,  and 
Aslauga's  Knight"]  could  never  have  been 
popular  out  of  Germany.  It  is  too  simple,  too 
direct,  too  obvious,  too  bold,  not  sufficiently 
complex,  to  be  relished  by  any  people  who  have 
thoroughly  passed  the  first  (or  impulsive)  epoch 
of  literary  civilization.  The  Germans  have  not 
yet  passed  this  first  epoch.  It  must  be  remem- 
bered that  during  the  whole  of  the  middle  ages 
they  lived  in  utter  ignorance  of  the  art  of  writ- 
ing. From  so  total  a  darkness,  of  so  late  a  date, 
they  could  not,  as  a  nation,  have  as  yet  fully 
307 


MARGINALIA 

emerged  into  the  second  or  critical  epoch.  In- 
dividual Germans  have  been  critical  in  the  best 
sense;  but  the  masses  are  unleavened.  Literary 
Germany  thus  presents  the  singular  spectacle  of 
the  impulsive  spirit  surrounded  by  the  critical, 
and,  of  course,  in  some  measure  influenced 
thereby.  England,  for  example,  has  advanced 
far,  and  France  much  farther,  into  the  critical 
epoch;  and  their  effect  on  the  German  mind  is 
seen  in  the  wildly  anomalous  condition  of  the 
German  literature  at  large.  That  this  latter  will 
be  improved  by  age,  however,  should  never  be 
maintained.  As  the  impulsive  spirit  subsides, 
and  the  critical  uprises,  there  will  appear  the 
polished  insipidity  of  the  later  England,  or  that 
ultimate  throe  of  taste  which  has  found  its  best 
exemplification  in  Sue.  At  present  the  German 
literature  resembles  no  other  on  the  face  of  the 
earth;  for  it  is  the  result  of  certain  conditions 
which,  before  this  individual  instance  of  their  ful- 
filment, have  never  been  fulfilled.  And  this 
anomalous  state  to  which  I  refer  is  the  source 
of  our  anomalous  criticism  upon  what  that 
state  produces  —  is  the  source  of  the  grossly 
conflicting  opinions  about  German  letters.  For 
my  own  part,  I  admit  the  German  vigor,  the 
German  directness,  boldness,  imagination,  and 
some  other  qualities  of  impulse,  just  as  I  am 
willing  to  admit  and  admire  these  qualities 
in  the  first  (or  impulsive)  epochs  of  British 
308 


MARGINALIA 

and  French  letters.  At  the  German  criticism, 
however,  I  cannot  refrain  from  laughing  all  the 
more  heartily,  all  the  more  seriously  I  hear  it 
praised.  Not  that,  in  detail,  it  affects  me  as  an 
absurdity  —  but  in  the  adaptation  of  its  details. 
It  abounds  in  brilliant  bubbles  of  suggestion,  but 
these  rise  and  sink  and  jostle  each  other,  until 
the  whole  vortex  of  thought  in  which  they  orig- 
inate is  one  indistinguishable  chaos  of  froth.  The 
German  criticism  is  unsettled,  and  can  only  be 
settled  by  time.  At  present  it  suggests  without 
demonstrating,  or  convincing,  or  effecting  any 
definite  purpose  under  the  sun.  We  read  it,  rub 
our  foreheads,  and  ask  "What  then? "  I  am  not 
ashamed  to  say  that  I  prefer  even  Voltaire  to 
Goethe,  and  hold  Macaulay  to  possess  more  of 
the  true  critical  spirit  than  Augustus  William 
and  Frederick  Schlegel  combined.  "  Thiodolf  " 
is  called  by  Fouque  his  "  most  successful  work." 
He  would  not  have  spoken  thus  had  he  considered 
it  his  best.  It  is  admirable  of  its  kind,  but  its 
kind  can  never  be  appreciated  by  Americans.  It 
will  affect  them  much  as  would  a  grasp  of  the 
hand  from  a  man  of  ice.  Even  the  exquisite 
"  Undine "  is  too  chilly  for  our  people,  and, 
generally,  for  our  epoch.  We  have  less  imagi- 
nation and  warmer  sympathies  than  the  age 
which  preceded  us.  It  would  have  done  Fouque 
more  ready  and  fuller  justice  than  ours.  Has 
any  one  remarked  the  striking  similarity  in  tone 
309 


MARGINALIA 

between    "  Undine "    and    the    "  Libussa "    of 
Musaeus  ? 

How  radically  has  "  Undine  "  been  misunder- 
stood! Beneath  its  obvious  meaning  there  runs 
an  undercurrent,  simple,  quite  intelligible,  artis- 
tically managed,  and  richly  philosophical. 

From  internal  evidence  afforded  by  the  book 
itself,  I  gather  that  the  author  suffered  from  the 
ills  of  a  mal-arranged  marriage  —  the  bitter  re- 
flections thus  engendered,  inducing  the  fable. 

In  the  contrast  between  the  artless,  thought- 
less, and  careless  character  of  Undine  before 
possessing  a  soul,  and  her  serious,  enwrapt,  and 
anxious  yet  happy  condition  after  possessing  it, 

—  a  condition  which,  with  all  its  multiform  dis- 
quietudes, she  still  feels  to  be  preferable  to  her 
original  state,  —  Fouque  has  beautifully  painted 
the  difference  between  the  heart  unused  to  love, 
and  the  heart  which  has  received  its  inspiration. 

The  jealousies  which  follow  the  marriage,  aris- 
ing from  the  conduct  of  Bertalda,  are  but  the 
natural  troubles  of  love;  but  the  persecutions  of 
Kuhleborn  and  the  other  water-spirits  who  take 
umbrage  at  Huldbrand's  treatment  of  his  wife, 
are  meant  to  picture  certain  difficulties  from  the 
interference  of  relations  in  conjugal  matters  — 
difficulties  which  the  author  has  himself  experi- 
enced. The  warning  of  Undine  to  Huldbrand 

—  "  Reproach  me  not  upon  the  waters,  or  we  part 

310 


MARGINALIA 

forever  "  —  is  intended  to  embody  the  truth  that 
quarrels  between  man  and  wife  are  seldom  or 
never  irremediable  unless  when  taking  place  in 
the  presence  of  third  parties.  The  second  wed- 
ding of  the  knight  with  his  gradual  f orgetfulness 
of  Undine,  and  Undine's  intense  grief  beneath 
the  waters,  —  are  dwelt  upon  so  pathetically,  so 
passionately,  that  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  the 
author's  personal  opinions  on  the  subject  of 
second  marriages  —  no  doubt  of  his  deep  per- 
sonal interest  in  the  question.  How  thrillingly 
are  these  few  and  simple  words  made  to  convey 
his  belief  that  the  mere  death  of  a  beloved  wife 
does  not  imply  a  separation  so  final  or  so  com- 
plete as  to  justify  an  union  with  another! 

"The  fisherman  had  loved  Undine  with  exceeding 
tenderness,  and  it  was  a  doubtful  conclusion  to  his  mind 
that  the  mere  disappearance  of  his  beloved  child  could 
be  properly  viewed  as  her  death." 

This  is  where  the  old  man  is  endeavoring  to 
dissuade  the  knight  from  wedding  Bertalda. 

I  cannot  say  whether  the  novelty  of  the  con- 
ception of  "  Undine,"  or  the  loftiness  and 
purity  of  its  ideality,  or  the  intensity  of  its  pathos, 
or  the  rigor  of  its  simplicity,  or  the  high 
artistical  ability  with  which  all  are  combined  into 
a  well-kept,  well-motivirt  whole  of  absolute  unity 
of  effect — as  the  particular  chiefly  to  be  ad- 
mired. 

311 


MARGINALIA 

How  delicate  and  graceful  are  the  transitions 
from  subject  to  subject!  —  a  point  severely  test- 
ing the  authorial  power  —  as,  when,  for  the  pur- 
poses of  the  story,  it  becomes  necessary  that  the 
knight,  with  Undine  and  Bertalda,  shall  proceed 
down  the  Danube.  An  ordinary  novelist  would 
have  here  tormented  both  himself  and  his  readers, 
in  his  search  for  a  sufficient  motive  for  the 
voyage.  But,  in  a  fable  such  as  "  Undine/'  how 
all-sufficient  —  how  well  in  keeping — appears 
the  simple  motive  assigned! — : 

"  In  this  grateful  union  of  friendship  and  affection, 
winter  came  and  passed  away;  and  spring,  with  its 
foliage  of  tender  green,  and  its  heaven  of  softest  blue, 
succeeded  to  gladden  the  hearts  of  the  three  inmates  of 
the  castle.  What  wonder,  then,  that  its  storks  and 
swallows  inspired  them  also  with  a  disposition  to 
travel?  » 

VOLNEY 

"  That  evil  predominates  over  good,  becomes  evident, 
when  we  consider  that  there  can  be  found  no  aged  person 
who  would  be  willing  to  re-live  the  life  he  has  already 
lived."  —  VOLNEY. 

The  idea  here  is  not  distinctly  made  out;  for, 
unless  through  the  context,  we  cannot  be  sure 
whether  the  author  means  merely  this  —  that 
every  aged  person  fancies  he  might,  in  a  dif- 
ferent course  of  life,  have  been  happier  than  in 
the  one  actually  lived,  and,  for  this  reason,  would 
not  be  willing  to  live  his  life  over  again,  but  some 


MARGINALIA 

other  life;  or  whether  the  sentiment  intended  is 
this  —  that  if,  upon  the  grave's  brink,  the  choice 
between  the  expected  death  and  the  re-living  the 
old  life  were  offered  any  aged  person,  that  person 
would  prefer  to  die.  The  first  proposition  is, 
perhaps,  true;  but  the  last  (which  is  the  one 
designed)  is  not  only  doubtful,  in  point  of  mere 
fact,  but  is  of  no  effect,  even  if  granted  to  be 
true,  in  sustaining  the  original  proposition  —  that 
evil  predominates  over  good.  It  is  assumed  that 
the  aged  person  will  not  re-live  his  life,  because 
he  knows  that  its  evil  predominated  over  its  good. 
The  source  of  error  lies  in  the  word  "  knows  "  — 
in  the  assumption  that  we  can  ever  be,  really,  in 
possession  of  the  whole  knowledge  to  which  allu- 
sion is  cloudily  made.  But  there  is  a  seeming  — 
a  fictitious  knowledge;  and  this  very  seeming 
knowledge  it  is,  of  what  the  life  has  been,  which 
incapacitates  the  aged  person  from  deciding  the 
question  on  its  merits.  He  blindly  deduces  a  no- 
tion of  the  happiness  of  the  original  real  life  —  a 
notion  of  its  preponderating  evil  or  good  —  from 
a  consideration  of  the  secondary  or  supposititious 
one.  In  his  estimate  he  merely  strikes  a  balance 
between  events,,  and  leaves  quite  out  of  the  ac- 
count that  elastic  Hope  which  is  the  Eos  of  all. 
Man's  real  life  is  happy,  chiefly  because  he  is 
ever  expecting  that  it  soon  will  be  so.  In  regard- 
ing the  supposititious  life,  however,  we  paint  to 
ourselves  chill  certainties  for  warm  expectations, 
313 


MARGINALIA 

and  grievances  quadrupled  in  being  foreseen. 
But  because  we  cannot  avoid  doing  this,  strain 
our  imaginative  faculties  as  we  will  —  because  it 
is  so  very  difficult,  so  nearly  impossible  a  task, 
to  fancy  the  known  unknown,  the  done  unaccom- 
plished, and  because  (through  our  inability  to 
fancy  all  this)  we  prefer  death  to  a  secondary 
life  —  does  it,  in  any  manner,  follow  that  the  evil 
of  the  properly-considered  real  existence  does 
predominate  over  the  good? 

In  order  that  a  just  estimate  be  made  by  Mr. 
Volney's  "  aged  person,"  and  from  this  estimate 
a  judicious  choice:  —  in  order,  again,  that  from 
this  estimate  and  choice,  we  deduce  any  clear  com- 
parison of  good  with  evil  in  human  existence,  it 
will  be  necessary  that  we  obtain  the  opinion,  or 
"  choice,"  upon  this  point,  from  an  aged  person, 
who  shall  be  in  condition  to  appreciate,  with 
precision,  the  hopes  he  is  naturally  led  to  leave 
out  of  question,  but  which  reason  tells  us  he 
would  as  strongly  experience  as  ever,  in  the  abso- 
lute re-living  of  the  life.  On  the  other  hand,  too, 
he  must  be  in  condition  to  dismiss  from  the 
estimate  the  fears  which  he  actually  feels,  and 
which  show  him  bodily  the  ills  that  are  to  hap- 
pen, but  which  fears,  again,  reason  assures  us 
he  would  not,  in  the  absolute  secondary  life, 
encounter.  Now  what  mortal  was  ever  in  condi- 
tion to  make  these  allowances  ?  —  to  perform  im- 
possibilities in  giving  these  considerations  their 


MARGINALIA 

due  weight?  What  mortal,  then,  was  ever  in  con- 
dition to  make  a  well-grounded  choice?  How, 
from  an  ill-grounded  one,  are  we  to  make  deduc- 
tions which  shall  guide  us  aright?  How  out  of 
error  shall  we  fabricate  truth? 

THE  LAST  PAGE 

I  have  at  length  attained  the  last  page,  which 
is  a  thing  to  thank  God  for;  and  all  this  may 
be  logic,  but  I  am  sure  it  is  nothing  more.  Until 
I  get  the  means  of  refutation,  however,  I  must  be 
content  to  say,  with  the  Jesuits,  Le  Sueur  and 
Jacquier,  that  "  I  acknowledge  myself  obedient 
to  the  decrees  of  the  Pope  against  the  motion  of 
the  earth." 

"  RHODODAPHNE  " 

"  Rhododaphne  "  (who  wrote  it?)  is  brim-full 
of  music:  —  e.  g:  — 

"  By  living  streams,  in  sylvan  shades, 

Where  wind  and  wave  sjmphonious  make 
Rich  melody,  the  youths  and  maids 
No  more  with  choral  music  wake 
Lone  Echo  from  her  tangled  brake." 

SUE'S  "  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS  " 

I   have   just    finished    Sue's   "Mysteries   of 

Paris"  —  a  work  of  unquestionable  power  —  a 

museum  of  novel  and  ingenious  incident  —  a 

paradox  of  childish  folly  and  consummate  skill. 

315 


MARGINALIA 

It  has  this  point  in  common  with  all  the  "  con- 
vulsive" fictions  —  that  the  incidents  are  con- 
sequential from  the  premises,  while  the  premises 
themselves  are  laughably  incredible.  Admitting, 
for  instance,  the  possibility  of  such  a  man  as 
Rodolphe,  and  of  such  a  state  of  society  as  would 
tolerate  his  perpetual  interference,  we  have  no 
difficulty  in  agreeing  to  admit  the  possibility  of 
his  accomplishing  all  that  is  accomplished.  An- 
other point  which  distinguishes  the  Sue  school,  is 
the  total  want  of  the  ars  celare  art  em.  In  effect 
the  writer  is  always  saying  to  the  reader,  "  Now 
—  in  one  moment  —  you  shall  see  what  you  shall 
see.  I  am  about  to  produce  on  you  a  remarkable 
impression.  Prepare  to  have  your  imagination, 
or  your  pity,  greatly  excited."  The  wires  are  not 
only  not  concealed,  but  displayed  as  things  to  be 
admired,  equally  with  the  puppets  they  set  in 
motion.  The  result  is,  that  in  perusing,  for  ex- 
ample, a  pathetic  chapter  in  the  "  Mysteries  of 
Paris  '*  we  say  to  ourselves,  without  shedding 
a  tear  —  "Now,  here  is  something  which  will 
be  sure  to  move  every  reader  to  tears."  The 
philosophical  motives  attributed  to  Sue  are 
absurd  in  the  extreme.  His  first,  and  in  fact 
his  sole  object,  is  to  make  an  exciting,  and  there- 
fore salable  book.  The  cant  (implied  or  direct) 
about  the  amelioration  of  society,  etc.,  is  but  a 
very  usual  trick  among  authors,  whereby  they 
hope  to  add  such  a  tone  of  dignity  or  utilitar- 
316 


MARGINALIA 

ianism  to  their  pages  as  shall  gild  the  pill  of  their 
licentiousness.  The  ruse  is  even  more  generally 
employed  by  way  of  engrafting  a  meaning  upon 
the  otherwise  unintelligible.  In  the  latter  case, 
however,  this  ruse  is  an  after-thought,  manifested 
in  the  shape  of  a  moral,  either  appended  (as  in 
^Esop)  or  dovetailed  into  the  body  of  the  work, 
piece  by  piece,  with  great  care,  but  never  without 
leaving  evidence  of  its  after-insertion. 

The  translation  (by  C.  H.  Town)  is  very  im- 
perfect, and,  by  a  too  literal  rendering  of  idioms, 
contrives  to  destroy  the  whole  tone  of  the  original. 
Or,  perhaps,  I  should  say  a  too  literal  rendering 
of  local  peculiarities  of  phrase.  There  is  one 
point  (never  yet,  I  believe,  noticed)  which, 
obviously,  should  be  considered  in  translation. 
We  should  so  render  the  original  that  the  version 
should  impress  the  people  for  whom  it  is  intended 
just  as  the  original  impresses  the  people  for 
whom  it  (the  original)  is  intended.  Now,  if  we 
rigorously  translate  mere  local  idiosyncrasies  of 
phrase  (to  say  nothing  of  idioms)  we  inevitably 
distort  the  author's  designed  impression.  We  are. 
sure  to  produce  a  whimsical,  at  least,  if  not  always 
a  ludicrous,  effect  —  for  novelties,  in  a  case  of 
this  kind,  are  incongruities,  oddities.  A  distinc- 
tion, of  course,  should  be  observed  between  those 
peculiarities  of  phrase  which  appertain  to  the 
nation  and  those  which  belong  to  the  author  him- 
self, for  these  latter  will  have  a  similar  effect 
317 


MARGINALIA 

upon  all  nations,  and  should  be  literally  trans- 
lated. It  is  merely  the  general  inattention  to  the 
principle  here  proposed,  which  has  given  rise  to  so 
much  international  depreciation,  if  not  positive 
contempt,  as  regards  literature.  The  English 
reviews,  for  example,  have  abundant  allusions  to 
what  they  call  the  "  frivolousness  "  of  French 
letters  —  an  idea  chiefly  derived  from  the  impres- 
sion made  by  the  French  manner  merely;  this 
manner,  again,  having  in  it  nothing  essentially 
frivolous,  but  affecting  all  foreigners  as  such  (the 
English  especially)  through  that  oddity  of  which 
I  have  already  assigned  the  origin.  The  French 
return  the  compliment,  complaining  of  the  Brit- 
ish gaucherie  in  style.  The  phraseology  of  every 
nation  has  a  taint  of  drollery  about  it  in  the 
ears  of  every  other  nation  speaking  a  different 
tongue.  Now,  to  convey  the  true  spirit  of  an 
author,  this  taint  should  be  corrected  in  transla- 
tion. We  should  pride  ourselves  less  upon 
literality  and  more  upon  dexterity  at  paraphrase. 
Is  it  not  clear  that,  by  such  dexterity,  a  transla- 
tion may  be  made  to  convey  to  a  foreigner  a 
juster  conception  of  an  original  than  could  the 
original  itself? 

The  distinction  I  have  made  between  mere 
idioms  (which,  of  course,  should  never  be  literally 
rendered)  and  "  local  idiosyncrasies  of  phrase" 
may  be  exemplified  by  a  passage  at  page  291  of 
Mr.  Town's  translation:  — 
318 


MARGINALIA 

"  Never  mind !  Go  in  there !  You  will  take  the  cloak 
of  Calebasse.  You  will  wrap  yourself  in  it,"  etc.,  etc. 

These  are  the  words  of  a  lover  to  his  mistress, 
and  are  meant  kindly,  although  imperatively. 
They  embody  a  local  peculiarity  —  a  French 
peculiarity  of  phrase,  and  (to  French  ears)  con- 
vey nothing  dictatorial.  To  our  own,  neverthe- 
less, they  sound  like  the  command  of  a  military 
officer  to  his  subordinate,  and  thus  produce  an 
effect  quite  different  from  that  intended.  The 
translation,  in  such  case,  should  be  a  bold  para- 
phrase. For  example:  —  "I  must  insist  upon 
your  wrapping  yourself  in  the  cloak  of  Cale- 
basse." 

Mr.  Town's  version  of  "  The  Mysteries  of 
Paris,"  however,  is  not  objectionable  on  the  score 
of  excessive  literality  alone,  but  abounds  in  mis- 
apprehensions of  the  author's  meaning.  One  of 
the  strangest  errors  occurs  at  page  368,  where  we 
read:  — 

"  *  From  a  wicked,  brutal  savage  and  riotous  rascal, 
he  has  made  me  a  kind  of  honest  man  by  saying  only 
two  words  to  me;  but  these  words,  "  voyez-vous,"  were 
like  magic.5 " 

Here  "  voyez-vous  "  are  made  to  be  the  two 
magical  words  spoken ;  but  the  translation  should 
run  —  "these  words,  do  you  see?  were  like 
magic."  The  actual  words  described  as  produc- 
ing the  magical  effect  are  "  heart "  and  "  honor." 
319 


MARGINALIA 

Of  similar  character  is  a  curious  mistake  at 
page  245. 

"  '  He  is  a  gueux  fini  and  an  attack  will  not  save  him,' 
added  Nicholas.  'A  —  yes,'  said  the  widow." 

Many  readers  of  Mr.  Town's  translation  have 
no  doubt  been  puzzled  to  perceive  the  force  or 
relevancy  of  the  widow's  "A  —  yes  "  in  this  case. 
I  have  not  the  original  before  me,  but  take  it  for 
granted  that  it  runs  thus,  or  nearly  so :  —  "  II  est 
un  gueux  -fini  et  un  assaut  ne  Vintimidera  pas." 
"  Un  —  out! "  dit  la  veuve. 

It  must  be  observed  that,  in  vivacious  French 
colloquy,  the  oui  seldom  implies  assent  to  the 
letter,  but  generally  to  the  spirit,  of  a  proposi- 
tion. Thus  a  Frenchman  usually  says  "  yes " 
where  an  Englishman  would  say  "no."  The 
latter's  reply,  for  example,  to  the  sentence  "  An 
attack  will  not  intimidate  him,"  would  be  "  No  " 

—  that  is  to  say,  "  I  grant  you  that  it  would  not." 
The  Frenchman,  however,  answers  "Yes"  — 
meaning,  "  I  agree  with  what  you  say  —  it  would 
not."    Both  replies,  of  course,  reaching  the  same 
point,  although  by  opposite  routes.    With  this 
understanding,  it  will  be  seen  that  the  true  version 
of  the  widow's  "Un  —  oui!"  should  be,  "  One 
attack,  I  grant  you,  might  not,"  and  that  this  is 
the  version  becomes  apparent  when  we  read  the 
words  immediately  following  —  "  but  every  day 

—  every  day  it  is  hell!  " 


MARGINALIA 

An  instance  of  another  class  of  even  more 
reprehensible  blunders,  is  to  be  found  on  page 
297,  where  Bras-Rouge  is  made  to  say  to  a  police 
officer  —  "  No  matter ;  it  is  not  of  that  I  com- 
plain ;  every  trade  has  its  disagreements."  Here, 
no  doubt,  the  French  is  desagremens —  incon- 
veniences —  disadvantages  —  unpleasantnesses. 
Desagremens  conveys  disagreements  not  even  so 
nearly  as,  in  Latin,  religio  implies  religion. 

I  was  not  a  little  surprised,  in  turning  over 
these  pages,  to  come  upon  the  admirable,  thrice 
admirable  story  called  Gringalet  et  Coupe  en 
Deuce,  which  is  related  by  Pique- Vinaigre  to  his 
companions  in  La  Force.  Rarely  have  I  read 
anything  of  which  the  exquisite  skill  so  delighted 
me.  For  my  soul  I  could  not  suggest  a  fault  in 
it  —  except,  perhaps,  that  the  intention  of  telling 
a  very  pathetic  story  is  a  little  too  transparent. 

But  I  say  that  I  was  surprised  in  coming  upon 
this  story  —  and  I  was  so,  because  one  of  its 
points  has  been  suggested  to  M.  Sue  by  a  tale 
of  my  own.  Coupe  en  Deux  has  an  ape  remark- 
able for  its  size,  strength,  ferocity,  and  propen- 
sity to  imitation.  Wishing  to  commit  a  murder 
so  cunningly  that  discovery  would  be  impossible, 
the  master  of  this  animal  teaches  it  to  imitate  the 
functions  of  a  barber,  and  incites  it  to  cut  the 
throat  of  a  child,  under  the  idea  that,  when  the 
murder  is  discovered,  it  will  be  considered  the 
uninstigated  deed  of  the  ape. 


MARGINALIA 

On  first  seeing  this,  I  felt  apprehensive  that 
some  of  my  friends  would  accuse  me  of  plagiariz- 
ing from  it  my  "  Murders  in  the  Rue  Morgue." 
But  I  soon  called  to  mind  that  this  latter  was  first 
published  in  "  Graham's  Magazine  "  for  April, 
1841.  Some  years  ago,  the  Paris  Charivari 
copied  my  story  with  complimentary  comments ; 
objecting,  however,  to  the  Rue  Morgue  on  the 
ground  that  no  such  street  (to  the  Charivari's 
knowledge)  existed  in  Paris.  I  do  not  wish,  of 
course,  to  look  upon  M.  Sue's  adaptation  of  my 
property  in  any  other  light  than  that  of  a  com- 
pliment. The  similarity  may  have  been  entirely 
accidental. 

ANTIGONE 

About  the  "  Antigone,"  as  about  all  the  ancient 
plays,  there  seems  to  me  a  certain  baldness,  the 
result  of  inexperience  in  art,  but  which  pedantry 
would  force  us  to  believe  the  result  of  a  studied 
and  supremely  artistic  simplicity.  Simplicity, 
indeed,  is  a  very  important  feature  in  all  true 
art  —  but  not  the  simplicity  which  we  see  in  the 
Greek  drama.  That  of  the  Greek  sculpture  is 
everything  that  can  be  desired,  because  here  the 
art  in  itself  is  simplicity  in  itself  and  in  its  ele- 
ments. The  Greek  sculptor  chiselled  his  forms 
from  what  he  saw  before  him  every  day,  in  a 
beauty  nearer  to  perfection  than  any  work  of  any 
Cleomenes  in  the  world.  But  in  the  drama,  the 
322 


MARGINALIA 

direct,  straightforward,  un-German  Greek  had 
no  Nature  so  immediately  presented  from  which 
to  make  copy.  He  did  what  he  could  —  but  I  do 
not  hesitate  to  say  that  that  was  exceedingly 
little  worth.  The  profound  sense  of  one  or  two 
tragic,  or  rather,  melodramatic  elements  (such 
as  the  idea  of  inexorable  Destiny)  — this  sense 
gleaming  at  intervals  from  out  the  darkness  of 
the  ancient  stage,  serves,  in  the  very  imperfection 
of  its  development,  to  show,  not  the  dramatic 
ability,  but  the  dramatic  inability  of  the  ancients. 
In  a  word,  the  simple  arts  spring  into  perfection 
at  their  origin;  the  complex  as  inevitably  de- 
mand the  long  and  painfully  progressive  ex- 
perience of  ages.  To  the  Greeks,  beyond  doubt, 
their  drama  seemed  perfection ;  it  fully  answered, 
to  them,  the  dramatic  end,  excitement,  and  this 
fact  is  urged  as  proof  of  their  drama's  perfection 
in  itself.  It  need  only  be  said,  in  reply,  that 
their  art  and  their  sense  of  art  were,  necessarily, 
on  a  level. 

JOHN  NEAL 

I  hardly  know  how  to  account  for  the  repeated 
failures  of  John  Neal  as  regards  the  construction 
of  his  works.  His  art  is  great  and  of  a  high 
character  —  but  it  is  massive  and  undetailed.  He 
seems  to  be  either  deficient  in  a  sense  of  complete- 
ness, or  unstable  in  temperament;  so  that  he 
becomes  wearied  with  his  work  before  getting  it 


MARGINALIA 

done.  He  always  begins  well,  vigorously,  start- 
lingly,  proceeds  by  fits,  much  at  random,  now 
prosing,  now  gossiping,  now  running  away  with 
his  subject,  now  exciting  vivid  interest;  but  his 
conclusions  are  sure  to  be  hurried  and  indistinct; 
so  that  the  reader,  perceiving  a  f  alling-off  where 
he  expects  a  climax,  is  pained,  and,  closing  the 
book  with  dissatisfaction,  is  in  no  mood  to  give  the 
author  credit  for  the  vivid  sensations  which  have 
been  aroused  during  the  progress  of  perusal.  Of 
all  literary  foibles  the  most  fatal,  perhaps,  is  that 
of  defective  climax.  Nevertheless,  I  should  be 
inclined  to  rank  John  Neal  first,  or  at  all  events 
second,  among  our  men  of  indisputable  genius. 
Is  it,  or  is  it  not  a  fact,  that  the  air  of  a  De- 
mocracy agrees  better  with  mere  Talent  than 
with  Genius? 

MALIBRAN 

Upon  her  was  lavished  the  enthusiastic  ap- 
plause of  the  most  correct  taste,  and  of  the 
deepest  sensibility.  Human  triumph,  in  all  that 
is  most  exciting  and  delicious,  never  went  beyond 
that  which  she  experienced  —  or  never  but  in  the 
case  of  Taglioni.  For  what  are  the  extorted 
adulations  that  fall  to  the  lot  of  the  conqueror? 
—  what  even  are  the  extensive  honors  of  the 
popular  author  —  his  far-reaching  fame  —  his 
high  influence  —  or  the  most  devout  public 
appreciation  of  his  works  —  to  that  rapturous 
324 


MARGINALIA 

approbation  of  the  personal  woman  —  that  spon- 
taneous, instant,  present,  and  palpable  applause 
—  those  irrepressible  acclamations  —  those  elo- 
quent sighs  and  tears  which  the  idolized  Malibran 
at  once  heard,  and  saw,  and  deeply  felt  that  she 
deserved?  Her  brief  career  was  one  gorgeous 
dream  —  for  even  the  many  sad  intervals  of  her 
grief  were  but  dust  in  the  balance  of  her  glory. 
In  this  book 1 1  read  much  about  the  causes  which 
curtailed  her  existence;  and  there  seems  to  hang 
around  them,  as  here  given,  an  indistinctness 
which  the  fair  memorialist  tries  in  vain  to  il- 
lumine. She  seems  never  to  approach  the  full 
truth.  She  seems  never  to  reflect  that  the  speedy 
decease  was  but  a  condition  of  the  rapturous  life. 
No  thinking  person,  hearing  Malibran  sing, 
could  have  doubted  that  she  would  die  in  the 
spring  of  her  days.  She  crowded  ages  into 
hours.  She  left  the  world  at  twenty-five,  having 
existed  her  thousands  of  years. 

SOUTHEY'S  "DOCTOR" 

"  The  Doctor  "  has  excited  great  attention  in 
America  as  well  as  in  England,  and  has  given 
rise  to  every  variety  of  conjecture  and  opinion, 
not  only  concerning  the  author's  individuality, 
but  in  relation  to  the  meaning,  purpose,  and 

1  "  Memoirs  and  Letters  of  Madame  Malibran,"  by  the 
Countess  of  Merlin. 

325 


MARGINALIA 

character  of  the  book  itself.  It  is  now  said  to  be 
the  work  of  one  author  —  now  of  two,  three, 
four,  five  —  as  far  even  as  nine  or  ten.  These 
writers  are  sometimes  thought  to  have  composed 
"  The  Doctor  "  conjointly  —  sometimes  to  have 
written  each  a  portion.  These  individual  por- 
tions have  even  been  pointed  out  by  the  su- 
premely acute,  and  the  names  of  their  respective 
fathers  assigned.  Supposed  discrepancies  of 
taste  and  manner,  together  with  the  prodigal  in- 
troduction of  mottoes,  and  other  scraps  of  erudi- 
tion (apparently  beyond  the  compass  of  a  single 
individual's  reading)  have  given  rise  to  this  idea 
of  a  multiplicity  of  writers  —  among  whom  are 
mentioned  in  turn  all  the  most  witty,  all  the  most 
eccentric,  and  especially  all  the  most  learned  of 
Great  Britain.  Again,  in  regard  to  the  nature 
of  the  book.  It  has  been  called  an  imitation  of 
Sterne  —  an  august  and  most  profound  exem- 
plification, under  the  garb  of  eccentricity,  of 
some  all-important  moral  law  —  a  true,  under 
guise  of  a  fictitious,  biography  —  a  simple  jeu 
d' esprit  —  a  mad  farrago  by  a  Bedlamite  — 
and  a  great  multiplicity  of  other  equally  fine 
names  and  hard.  Undoubtedly,  the  best  method 
of  arriving  at  a  decision  in  relation  to  a  work  of 
this  nature  is  to  read  it  through  with  attention, 
and  thus  see  what  can  be  made  of  it.  We  have 
done  so,  and  can  make  nothing  of  it,  and  are 
therefore  clearly  of  opinion  that  "  The  Doctor  " 
326 


MARGINALIA 

is  precisely  —  nothing.  We  mean  to  say  that  it 
is  nothing  better  than  a  hoax. 

That  any  serious  truth  is  meant  to  be  in- 
culcated by  a  tissue  of  bizarre  and  disjointed 
rhapsodies,  whose  general  meaning  no  person  can 
fathom,  is  a  notion  altogether  untenable,  unless 
we  suppose  the  author  a  madman.  But  there  are 
none  of  the  proper  evidences  of  madness  in  the 
book,  while  of  mere  banter  there  are  instances  in- 
numerable. One  half,  at  least,  of  the  entire  pub- 
lication is  taken  up  with  palpable  quizzes,  reason- 
ings in  a  circle,  sentences  like  the  nonsense  verses 
of  Du  Bartas  evidently  framed  to  mean  nothing 
while  wearing  an  air  of  profound  thought,  and 
grotesque  speculations  in  regard  to  the  probable 
excitementito  be  created  by  the  book. 

It  appears  to  have  been  written  with  a  sole 
view  (or  nearly  with  the  sole  view)  of  exciting 
inquiry  and  comment.  That  this  object  should 
be  fully  accomplished  cannot  be  thought  very 
wonderful,  when  we  consider  the  excessive  trou- 
ble taken  to  accomplish  it,  by  vivid  and  power- 
ful intellect.  That  "  The  Doctor  "  is  the  off- 
spring of  such  intellect  is  proved  sufficiently  by 
many  passages  of  the  book,  where  the  writer 
appears  to  have  been  led  off  from  his  main 
design.  That  it  is  written  by  more  than  one 
man  should  not  be  deduced  either  from  the 
apparent  immensity  of  its  erudition,  or  from 
discrepancies  of  style.  That  man  is  a  desperate 
327 


MARGINALIA 

mannerist  who  cannot  vary  his  style  ad  infinitum; 
and  although  the  book  may  have  been  written 
by  a  number  of  learned  bibliophagi,  still  there 
is,  we  think,  nothing  to  be  found  in  the  book 
itself  at  variance  with  the  possibility  of  its  being 
written  by  any  one  individual  of  even  mediocre 
reading.  Erudition  is  only  certainly  known 
in  its  total  results.  The  mere  grouping  together 
of  mottoes  from  the  greatest  multiplicity  of  the 
rarest  works,  or  even  the  apparently  natural  in- 
weaving into  any  composition  of  the  sentiments 
and  manner  of  these  works,  are  attainments 
within  the  reach  of  any  well-informed,  ingenious, 
and  industrious  man  having  access  to  the  great 
libraries  of  London.  Moreover,  while  a  single 
individual  possessing  these  requisites  and  oppor- 
tunities might  through  a  rabid  desire  of  creating 
a  sensation  have  written  with  some  trouble  "  The 
Doctor,"  it  is  by  no  means  easy  to  imagine  that  a 
plurality  of  sensible  persons  could  be  found  will- 
ing to  embark  in  such  absurdity  from  a  similar,  or 
indeed  from  any  imaginable  inducement. 

The  present  edition  of  the  Harpers'  consists 
of  two  volumes  in  one.  Volume  one  commences 
with  a  "  Prelude  of  Mottoes "  occupying  two 
pages.  Then  follows  a  "  Postscript  "  —  then  a 
"  Table  of  Contents  to  the  First  Volume,"  oc- 
cupying eighteen  pages.  Volume  two  has  a 
similar  "  Prelude  of  Mottoes "  and  "  Table  of 
Contents."  The  whole  is  subdivided  into  "  Chap- 
328 


MARGINALIA 

ters  Ante-Initial,"  "  Initial,"  and  "  Post-Initial," 
with  "  Inter-chapters."  The  pages  have  now  and 
then  a  typographical  queerity  —  a  monogram, 
a  scrap  of  grotesque  music,  old  English,  etc. 
Some  characters  of  this  latter  kind  are  printed 
with  colored  ink  in  the  British  edition,  which  is 
gotten  up  with  great  care.  All  these  oddities  are 
in  the  manner  of  Sterne,  and  some  of  them  are 
exceedingly  well  conceived.  The  work  professes 
to  be  a  Life  of  one  Doctor  Daniel  Dove  and  his 
horse  Nobs  —  but  we  should  put  no  very  great 
faith  in  this  biography.  On  the  back  of  the  book 
is  a  monogram,  which  appears  again  once  or  twice 
in  the  text,  and  whose  solution  is  a  fertile  source 
of  trouble  with  all  readers.  This  monogram  is 
a  triangular  pyramid;  and  as,  in  geometry,  the 
solidity  of  every  polyhedral  body  may  be  com- 
puted by  dividing  the  body  into  pyramids,  the 
pyramid  is  thus  considered  as  the  base  or  essence 
of  every  polyhedron.  The  author  then,  after 
his  own  fashion,  may  mean  to  imply  that  his  book 
is  the  basis  of  all  solidity  or  wisdom — or  per- 
haps, since  the  polyhedron  is  not  only  a  solid,  but 
a  solid  terminated  by  plane  faces,  that  "  The 
Doctor  "  is  the  very  essence  of  all  that  spurious 
wisdom  which  will  terminate  in  just  nothing  at 
all  —  in  a  hoax,  and  a  consequent  multiplicity 
of  blank  visages.  The  wit  and  humor  of  "  The 
Doctor  "  have  seldom  been  equalled.  We  can- 


329 


MARGINALIA 

not  think  Southey  wrote  it,  but  have  no  idea  who 
did. 

SIMMS 

"  It  was  a  pile  of  the  oyster  which  yielded  the  precious 
pearls  of  the  South,  and  the  artist  had  judiciously  painted 
some  with  their  lips  parted,  and  showing,  within,  the  large 
precious  fruit  in  the  attainment  of  which  Spanish  cupidity 
had  already  proved  itself  capable  of  every  peril,  as  well 
as  every  crime.  At  once  true  and  poetical,  no  comment 
could  have  been  more  severe,"  etc.  —  MR.  SIMMS'S  Damsel 
of  Darien.  ' 

Body  of  Bacchus!  —  only  think  of  poetical 
beauty  in  the  countenance  of  a  gaping  oyster! 

"  And  how  natural,  in  an  age  so  fanciful,  to  believe 
that  the  stars  and  starry  groups  beheld  in  the  new  world 
for  the  first  time  by  the  native  of  the  old  were  especially 
assigned  for  its  government  and  protection." 

Now,  if  by  the  old  world  be  meant  the  East, 
and  by  the  new  world  the  West,  I  am  at  a  loss 
to  know  what  are  the  stars  seen  in  the  one  which 
cannot  be  equally  seen  in  the  other.  Mr.  Simms 
has  abundant  faults  —  or  had ;  among  which  in- 
accurate English,  a  proneness  to  revolting  im- 
ages, and  pet  phrases,  are  the  most  noticeable. 
Nevertheless,  leaving  out  of  the  question  Brock- 
den  Brown  and  Hawthorne  (who  are  each  a 
genus),  he  is  immeasurably  the  best  writer  of 
fiction  in  America.  He  has  more  vigor,  more 
imagination,  more  movement,  and  more  general 
330 


MARGINALIA 

capacity  than  all  our  novelists   (save  Cooper) 
combined. 

A  ballad  entitled  "  Indian  Serenade,"  and  put 
into  the  mouth  of  the  hero,  Vasco  Nunez,  is, 
perhaps,  the  most  really  meritorious  portion  of 
Mr.  Simms's  "  Damsel  of  Darien."  This  stanza 
is  full  of  music: 

"  And  their  wild  and  mellow  voices 

Still  to  hear  along  the  deep 
Every  brooding  star  rejoices, 

While  the  billow,  on  its  pillow, 
Lulled  to  silence  seems  to  sleep." 

And  also  this :  — 

"  'T  is  the  wail  for  life  they  waken 
By  Samana's  yielding  shore  — 
With  the  tempest  it  is  shaken; 

The  wild  ocean  is  in  motion. 
And  the  song  is  heard  no  more." 

LOWELL 

"  Here  is  a  man  who  is  a  scholar  and  an  artist,  who 
knows  precisely  how  every  effect  has  been  produced  hy 
every  great  writer,  and  who  is  resolved  to  reproduce  them. 
But  the  heart  passes  by  his  pitfalls  and  traps,  and  care- 
fully-planned springes,  to  be  taken  captive  by  some  simple 
fellow  who  expected  the  event  as  little  as  did  his  prisoner." 

Perhaps  I  err  in  quoting  these  words  as  the 
author's  own  —  they  are  in  the  mouth  of  one 
of  his  interlocutors  —  but  whoever  claims  them, 
they  are  poetical  and  no  more.  The  error  is 
exactly  that  common  one  of  separating  practice 
331 


MARGINALIA 

from  the  theory  which  includes  it.  In  all  cases, 
if  the  practice  fail,  it  is  because  the  theory  is 
imperfect.  If  Mr.  Lowell's  heart  be  not  caught 
in  the  pitfall  or  trap,  then  the  pitfall  is  ill-con- 
cealed and  the  trap  is  not  properly  baited  or 
set.  One  who  has  some  artistical  ability  may 
know  how  to  do  a  thing,  and  even  show  how  to 
do  it,  and  yet  fail  in  doing  it  after  all;  but  the 
artist  and  the  man  of  some  artistic  ability  must 
not  be  confounded.  He  only  is  the  former  who 
can  carry  his  most  shadowy  precepts  into  suc- 
cessful application.  To  say  that  a  critic  could 
not  have  written  the  work  which  he  criticises,  is 
to  put  forth  a  contradiction  in  terms. 

BULWEK 

"  He  (Bulwer)  is  the  most  accomplished  writer  of  the 
most  accomplished  era  of  English  Letters;  practising  all 
styles  and  classes  of  composition,  and  eminent  in  all  — 
novelist,  dramatist,  poet,  historian,  moral  philosopher,  es- 
sayist, critic,  political  pamphleteer ;  —  in  each  superior  to 
all  others,  and  only  rivalled  in  each  by  himself."  —  WARD, 
author  of  Tremaine. 

The  "  only  rivalled  in  each  by  himself,"  here, 
puts  me  in  mind  of 

"  None  but  himself  can  be  his  parallel." 

But  surely  Mr.  Ward  (who,  although  he  did 
write  "  De  Vere,"  is  by  no  means  a  fool)  could 
never  have  put  to  paper,  in  his  sober  senses,  any- 
thing so  absurd  as  the  paragraph  quoted  above, 
332 


MARGINALIA 

without  stopping  at  every  third  word  to  hold 
his  sides,  or  thrust  his  pocket-handkerchief  into 
his  mouth.  If  the  serious  intention  be  insisted 
upon,  however,  I  have  to  remark  that  the  opinion 
is  the  mere  opinion  of  a  writer  remarkable  for  no 
other  good  trait  than  his  facility  at  putting  his 
readers  to  sleep  according  to  rules  Addisonian, 
and  with  the  least  possible  loss  of  labor  and  time. 
But  as  the  mere  opinion  of  even  a  Jeffrey  or  a 
Macaulay,  I  have  an  inalienable  right  to  meet  it 
with  another. 

As  a  novelist,  then,  Bulwer  is  far  more  than 
respectable ;  although  generally  inferior  to  Scott, 
Godwin,  D 'Israeli,  Miss  Burney,  Sue,  Dumas, 
Dickens,  the  author  of  "  Ellen  Wareham,"  and 
the  author  of  "  Jane  Eyre,"  and  several  others. 
From  the  list  of  foreign  novels  I  could  select  a 
hundred  which  he  could  neither  have  written  nor 
conceived.  As  a  dramatist,  he  deserves  more 
credit,  although  he  receives  less.  His  "Riche- 
lieu," "Money,"  and  "Lady  of  Lyons,"  have 
done  much  in  the  way  of  opening  the  public  eyes 
to  the  true  value  of  what  is  superciliously  termed 
"stage  effect"  in  the  hands  of  one  able  to 
manage  it.  But  if  commendable  at  this  point, 
his  dramas  fail  egregiously  in  points  more  im- 
portant; so  that,  upon  the  whole,  he  can  be  said 
to  have  written  a  good  play,  only  when  we  think 
of  him  in  connection  with  the  still  more  con- 
temptible "  old-dramatist  "  imitators  who  are  his 
333 


MARGINALIA 

contemporaries  and  friends.  As  historian,  he 
is  sufficiently  dignified,  sufficiently  ornate,  and 
more  than  sufficiently  self-sufficient.  His  "  Ath- 
ens "  would  have  received  an  Etonian  prize,  and 
has  all  the  happy  air  of  an  Etonian  prize-essay 
re- vamped.  His  political  pamphlets  are  very 
good  as  political  pamphlets  and  very  disrepu- 
table as  anything  else.  His  essays  leave  no  doubt 
upon  anybody's  mind  that,  with  the  writer,  they 
have  been  essays  indeed.  His  criticism  is  really 
beneath  contempt.  His  moral  philosophy  is  the 
most  ridiculous  of  all  the  moral  philosophies  that 
ever  have  been  imagined  upon  earth. 

"  The  men  of  sense,"  says  Helvetius,  "  those 
idols  of  the  unthinking,  are  very  far  inferior  to 
the  men  of  passions.  It  is  the  strong  passions 
which,  rescuing  us  from  sloth,  can  alone  impart 
to  us  that  continuous  and  earnest  attention  neces- 
sary to  great  intellectual  efforts." 

When  the  Swiss  philosopher  here  speaks  of 
*'  inferiority,"  he  refers  to  inferiority  in  worldly 
success :  —  by  "  men  of  sense  "  he  intends  in- 
dolent men  of  genius.  And  Bulwer  is,  em- 
phatically, one  of  the  "  men  of  passions  "  con- 
templated in  the  apothegm.  His  passions,  with 
opportunities,  have  made  him  what  he  is.  Urged 
by  a  rabid  ambition  to  do  much,  in  doing  nothing 
he  would  merely  have  proved  himself  an  idiot. 
Something  he  has  done.  In  aiming  at  Crichton, 
he  has  hit  the  target  an  inch  or  two  above 


MARGINALIA 

Harrison  Ainsworth.  Not  to  such  intellects  be- 
long the  honors  of  universality.  His  works  bear 
about  them  the  unmistakable  indications  of  mere 
talent  —  talent,  I  grant,  of  an  unusual  order,  and 
nurtured  to  its  extreme  of  development  with  a 
very  tender  and  elaborate  care.  Nevertheless,  it 
is  talent  still.  Genius  it  is  not. 

And  the  proof  is,  that  while  we  often  fancy 
ourselves  about  to  be  enkindled  beneath  its  in- 
fluence, fairly  enkindled  we  never  are.  That 
Bulwer  is  no  poet,  follows  as  a  corollary  from 
what  has  been  already  said :  —  for  to  speak  of  a 
poet  without  genius,  is  merely  to  put  forth  a 
flat  contradiction  in  terms. 

The  merely  mechanical  style  of  "  Athens  "  is 
far  better  than  that  of  any  of  Bulwer's  previous 
books.  In  general  he  is  atrociously  involute  — 
this  is  his  main  defect.  He  wraps  one  sentence 
in  another  ad  infinitum  —  very  much  in  the  fash- 
ion of  those  "  nests  of  boxes  "  sold  in  our  wooden 
ware-shops,  or  like  the  islands  within  lakes, 
within  islands  within  lakes,  within  islands  within 
lakes,  of  which  we  read  so  much  in  the 
"  Periplus  "  of  Hanno. 

A  hundred  criticisms  to  the  contrary  notwith- 
standing, I  must  regard  "  The  Lady  of  Lyons  " 
as  one  of  the  most  successful  dramatic  efforts 
of  modern  times.  It  is  popular,  and  justly  so. 
It  could  not  fail  to  be  popular  so  long  as  the 
people  have  a  heart.  It  abounds  in  sentiments 
335 


MARGINALIA 

which  stir  the  soul  as  the  sound  of  a  trumpet . 
It  proceeds  rapidly  and  consequentially;  the  in- 
terest not  for  one  moment  being  permitted  to 
flag.  Its  incidents  are  admirably  conceived  and 
skilfully  wrought  into  execution.  Its  dramatis 
personce,  throughout,  have  the  high  merit  of 
being  natural,  although,  except  in  the  case  of 
Pauline,  there  is  no  marked  individuality.  She 
is  a  creation  which  would  have  done  no  dishonor 
to  Shakespeare.  She  excites  profound  emotion. 
It  has  been  sillily  objected  to  her,  that  she  is 
weak,  mercenary,  and  at  points  ignoble.  She  is; 
and  what  then?  We  are  not  dealing  with  Clar- 
issa Harlowe.  Bulwer  has  painted  a  woman. 
The  chief  defect  of  the  play  lies  in  the  heroine's 
consenting  to  wed  Beauseant,  while  aware  of  the 
existence  and  even  the  continued  love  of  Claude. 
As  the  plot  runs,  there  is  a  question  in  Pauline's 
soul  between  a  comparatively  trivial  (because 
merely  worldly)  injury  to  her  father,  and  utter 
ruin  and  despair  inflicted  upon  her  husband. 
Here  there  should  not  have  been  an  instant's 
hesitation.  The  audience  have  no  sympathy 
with  any.  Nothing  on  earth  should  have  induced 
the  wife  to  give  up  the  living  Melnotte.  Only 
the  assurance  of  his  death  could  have  justified 
her  in  sacrificing  herself  to  Beauseant.  As  it 
is,  we  hate  her  for  the  sacrifice.  The  effect  is 
repulsive  —  but  I  must  be  understood  as  call- 
ing this  effect  objectionable  solely  on  the  ground 
336 


MARGINALIA 

of  its  being  at  war  with  the  whole  genius  of  the 
play. 

We  have  long  learned  to  reverence  the  fine 
intellect  of  Bulwer.  We  take  up  any  production 
of  his  pen  with  a  positive  certainty  that,  in  read- 
ing it,  the  wildest  passions  of  our  nature,  the 
most  profound  of  our  thoughts,  the  brightest 
visions  of  our  fancy,  and  the  most  ennobling  and 
lofty  of  our  aspirations  will,  in  due  turn,  be  en- 
kindled within  us.  We  feel  sure  of  rising  from 
the  perusal  a  wiser  if  not  a  better  man.  In  no 
instance  are  we  deceived.  From  the  brief  tale 
—  from  the  "  Monos  and  Daimonos  "  of  the  au- 
thor —  to  his  most  ponderous  and  labored  novels, 
all  is  richly,  and  glowingly  intellectual,  all  is 
energetic,  or  astute,  or  brilliant,  or  profound. 
There  may  be  men  now  living  who  possess  the 
power  of  Bulwer;  but  it  is  quite  evident  that 
very  few  have  made  that  power  so  palpably 
manifest.  Indeed  we  know  of  none.  Viewing 
him  as  a  novelist  —  a  point  of  view  exceedingly 
unfavorable  (if  we  hold  to  the  common  accepta- 
tion of  "the  novel")  for  a  proper  contempla- 
tion of  his  genius  —  he  is  unsurpassed  by  any 
writer  living  or  dead.  Why  should  we  hesitate 
to  say  this,  feeling,  as  we  do,  thoroughly  per- 
suaded of  its  truth.  Scott  has  excelled  him  in 
many  points,  and  "  The  Bride  of  Lammermoor  " 
is  a  better  book  than  any  individual  work  by  the 
337 


MARGINALIA 

author  of  "  Pelham  "  —  "  Ivanhoe  "  is,  perhaps, 
equal  to  any.  Descending  to  particulars,  D'ls- 
raeli  has  a  more  brilliant,  a  more  lofty,  and  a 
more  delicate  (we  do  not  say  a  wilder)  imagina- 
tion. Lady  Dacre  has  written  "  Ellen  Ware- 
ham,"  a  more  forcible  tale  of  passion.  In  some 
species  of  wit  Theodore  Hook  rivals,  and  in  broad 
humor  our  own  Paulding  surpasses  him.  The 
writer  of  "  Godolphin  "  equals  him  in  energy. 
Banim  is  a  better  sketcher  of  character.  Hope 
is  a  richer  colorist.  Captain  Trelawney  is  as 
original,  Moore  is  as  fanciful,  and  Horace  Smith 
is  as  learned.  But  who  is  there  uniting  in  one 
person  the  imagination,  the  passion,  the  humor, 
the  energy,  the  knowledge  of  the  heart,  the  artist- 
like  eye,  the  originality,  the  fancy,  and  the  learn- 
ing of  Edward  Lytton  Bulwer?  In  a  vivid  wit, 
in  profundity  and  a  Gothic  massiveness  of 
thought,  in  style,  in  a  calm  certainty  and  defini- 
tiveness  of  purpose,  in  industry,  and  above  all,  in 
the  power  of  controlling  and  regulating  by  voli- 
tion his  illimitable  faculties  of  mind,  he  is  un- 
equalled, he  is  unapproached. 

The  style  of  Bulwer's  "  Night  and  Morning  " 
is  so  involute  that  one  cannot  help  fancying  it 
must  be  falsely  constructed.  If  the  use  of  lan- 
guage is  to  convey  ideas,  then  it  is  nearly  as  much 
a  demerit  that  our  words  seem  to  be,  as  that 
they  are,  indefensible.  A  man's  grammar,  like 
338 


MARGINALIA 

Csesar's  wife,  must  not  only  be  pure,  but  above 
suspicion  of  impurity. 

DICKENS 

The  great  feature  of  the  "Old  Curiosity 
Shop  "  is  its  chaste,  vigorous,  and  glorious  im- 
agination. This  is  the  one  charm,  all  potent, 
which  alone  would  suffice  to  compensate  for  a 
world  more  of  error  than  Mr.  Dickens  ever  com- 
mitted. It  is  not  only  seen  in  the  conception,  and 
general  handling  of  the  story,  or  in  the  inven- 
tion of  character;  but  it  pervades  every  sentence 
of  the  book.  We  recognize  its  prodigious  in- 
fluence in  every  inspired  word.  It  is  this  which 
induces  the  reader  who  is  at  all  ideal,  to  pause 
frequently,  to  re-read  the  occasionally  quaint 
phrases,  to  muse  in  uncontrollable  delight  over 
thoughts  which,  while  he  wonders  he  has  never 
hit  upon  them  before,  he  yet  admits  that  he  never 
has  encountered.  In  fact,  it  is  the  wand  of  the 
enchanter. 

Had  we  room  to  particularize,  we  would  men- 
tion as  points  evincing  most  distinctly  the  ideal- 
ity of  the  "  Old  Curiosity  Shop,"  the  picture  of 
the  shop  itself,  the  newly-born  desire  of  the 
worldly  old  man  for  the  peace  of  green  fields, 
his  whole  character  and  conduct  in  short,  the 
schoolmaster  with  his  desolate  fortunes,  seeking 
affection  in  little  children,  the  haunts  of  Quilp 


MARGINALIA 

among  the  wharf -rats,  the  tinkering  of  the 
Punch-men  among  the  tombs,  the  glorious  scene 
where  the  man  of  the  forge  sits  poring  at  deep 
midnight  into  that  dread  fire,  again  the  whole 
conception  of  this  character;  and,  last  and  great- 
est, the  stealthy  approach  of  Nell  to  her  death 
—  her  gradual  sinking  away  on  the  journey  to 
the  village,  so  skilfully  indicated  rather  than  de- 
scribed, her  pensive  and  prescient  meditation,  the 
fit  of  strange  musing  which  came  over  her  when 
the  house  in  which  she  was  to  die  first  broke  upon 
her  sight,  the  description  of  this  house,  of  the 
old  church  and  of  the  church-yard  —  everything 
in  rigid  consonance  with  the  one  impression  to  be 
conveyed  —  that  deep  meaningless  well,  the  com- 
ments of  the  Sexton  upon  death,  and  upon  his 
own  secure  life  —  this  whole  world  of  mourn- 
ful yet  peaceful  idea  merging,  at  length,  into 
the  decease  of  the  child  Nelly,  and  the  uncompre- 
hending despair  of  the  grandfather.  These  con- 
cluding scenes  are  so  drawn  that  human  lan- 
guage, urged  by  human  thought,  could  go  no  far- 
ther in  the  excitement  of  human  feelings.  And 
the  pathos  is  of  that  best  order  which  is  relieved, 
in  great  measure,  by  ideality.  Here  the  book 
has  never  been  equalled,  —  never  approached 
except  in  one  instance,  and  that  is  in  the  case  of 
the  "  Undine  "  of  De  La  Motte  Fouque.  The 
imagination  is  perhaps  as  great  in  this  latter 
work,  but  the  pathos,  although  truly  beautiful 
340 


MARGINALIA 

and  deep,  fails  of  much  of  its  effect  through  the 
material  from  which  it  is  wrought.  The  chief 
character,  being  endowed  with  purely  fanciful 
attributes,  cannot  command  our  full  sympathies, 
as  can  a  simple  denizen  of  earth.  In  saying,  a 
page  or  so  above,  that  the  death  of  the  child  left 
too  painful  an  impression,  and  should  therefore 
have  been  avoided,  we  must,  of  course,  be  under- 
stood as  referring  to  the  work  as  a  whole,  and  in 
respect  to  its  general  appreciation  and  popular- 
ity. The  death,  as  recorded,  is,  we  repeat,  of 
the  highest  order  of  literary  excellence  —  yet 
while  none  can  deny  this  fact,  there  are  few  who 
will  be  willing  to  read  the  concluding  passages 
a  second  time. 

Upon  the  whole,  we  think  the  "  Old  Curiosity 
Shop  "  very  much  the  best  of  the  works  of  Mr. 
Dickens.  It  is  scarcely  possible  to  speak  of  it  too 
well.  It  is  in  all  respects  a  tale  which  will  secure 
for  its  author  the  enthusiastic  admiration  of 
every  man  of  genius. 

It  is  not  every  one  who  can  put  "  a  good 
thing"  properly  together,  although,  perhaps, 
when  thus  properly  put  together,  every  tenth 
person  you  meet  with  may  be  capable  of  both 
conceiving  and  appreciating  it.  We  cannot 
bring  ourselves  to  believe  that  less  actual  ability 
is  required  in  the  composition  of  a  really  good 
"  brief  article "  than  in  a  fashionable  novel  of 
the  usual  dimensions.  The  novel  certainly  re- 


MARGINALIA 

quires  what  is  denominated  a  sustained  effort  — 
but  this  is  a  matter  of  mere  perseverance,  and 
has  but  a  collateral  relation  to  talent.  On  the 
other  hand  —  unity  of  effect,  a  quality  not  easily 
appreciated  or  indeed  comprehended  by  an  ordi- 
nary mind,  and  a  desideratum  difficult  of  attain- 
ment, even  by  those  who  can  conceive  it  —  is  in- 
dispensable in  the  "  brief  article,"  and  not  so  in 
the  common  novel.  The  latter,  if  admired  at  all, 
is  admired  for  its  detached  passages,  without 
reference  to  the  work  as  a  whole — or  without 
reference  to  any  general  design  —  which,  if  it 
even  exist  in  some  measure,  will  be  found  to  have 
occupied  but  little  of  the  writer's  attention,  and 
cannot,  from  the  length  of  the  narrative,  be  taken 
in  at  one  view,  by  the  reader. 

The  art  of  Mr.  Dickens,  although  elaborate 
and  great,  seems  only  a  happy  modification  of 
Nature.  In  this  respect  he  differs  remarkably 
from  the  author  of  "  Night  and  Morning."  The 
latter,  by  excessive  care  and  by  patient  reflec- 
tion, aided  by  much  rhetorical  knowledge,  and 
general  information,  has  arrived  at  the  capability 
of  producing  books  which  might  be  mistaken  by 
ninety-nine  readers  out  of  a  hundred  for  the 
genuine  inspirations  of  genius.  The  former,  by 
the  promptings  of  the  truest  genius  itself,  has 
been  brought  to  compose,  and  evidently  without 
effort,  works  which  have  effected  a  long-sought 


MARGINALIA 

consummation  —  which  have  rendered  him  the 
idol  of  the  people,  while  defying  and  enchanting 
the  critics.  Mr.  Bulwer,  through  art,  has  al- 
most created  a  genius.  Mr.  Dickens,  through 
genius,  has  perfected  a  standard  from  which  art 
itself  will  derive  its  essence  in  rules. 

The  serious  (minor)  compositions  of  Dickens 
have  been  lost  in  the  blaze  of  his  comic  reputa- 
tion. One  of  the  most  forcible  things  ever  writ- 
ten, is  a  short  story  of  his,  called  "  The  Black 
Veil; "  a  strangely  pathetic  and  richly  imagina- 
tive production,  replete  with  the  loftiest  tragic 
power. 

P.  S.  Mr.  Dickens's  head  must  puzzle  the 
phrenologists.  The  organs  of  ideality  are  small; 
and  the  conclusion  of  the  "  Old  Curiosity  Shop  " 
is  more  truly  ideal  (in  both  phrenological  senses) 
than  any  composition  of  equal  length  in  the 
English  language. 

JAMES 

The  author  of  "  Richelieu  "  and  "  Darnley  " 
is  lauded,  by  a  great  majority  of  those  who  laud 
him,  from  mere  motives  of  duty,  not  of  incli- 
nation—  duty  erroneously  conceived.  He  is 
looked  upon  as  the  head  and  representative  of 
those  novelists  who  in  historical  romance  attempt 
to  blend  interest  with  instruction.  His  senti- 
ments are  found  to  be  pure,  his  morals  unques- 
343 


MARGINALIA 

tionable  and  pointedly  shown  forth,  his  language 
indisputably  correct.  And  for  all  this,  praise, 
assuredly,  but  then  only  a  certain  degree  of 
praise,  should  be  awarded  him.  To  be  pure  in 
his  expressed  opinions  is  a  duty;  and  were  his 
language  as  correct  as  any  spoken,  he  would 
speak  only  as  every  gentleman  should  speak.  In 
regard  to  his  historical  information,  were  it  much 
more  accurate  and  twice  as  extensive  as  from  any 
visible  indications  we  have  reason  to  believe  it, 
it  should  still  be  remembered  that  similar  attain- 
ments are  possessed  by  many  thousands  of  well- 
educated  men  of  all  countries,  who  look  upon 
their  knowledge  with  no  more  than  ordinary 
complacency;  and  that  a  far,  very  far  higher 
reach  of  erudition  is  within  the  grasp  of  any 
general  reader  having  access  to  the  great  libraries 
of  Paris  or  the  Vatican.  Something  more  than 
we  have  mentioned  is  necessary  to  place  our  au- 
thor upon  a  level  with  the  best  of  the  English 
novelists,  for  here  his  admirers  would  desire  us 
to  place  him.  Had  Sir  Walter  Scott  never  ex- 
isted, and  "  Waverley  "  never  been  written,  we 
would  not,  of  course,  award  Mr.  James  the 
merit  of  being  the  first  to  blend  history,  even 
successfully,  with  fiction.  But  as  an  indifferent 
imitator  of  the  Scotch  novelist  in  this  respect,  it 
is  unnecessary  to  speak  of  the  author  of  "  Riche- 
lieu" any  farther.  To  genius  of  any  kind,  it 
seems  to  us  that  he  has  little  pretension.  In 
344 


MARGINALIA 

the  solemn  tranquillity  of  his  pages  we  seldom 
stumble  across  a  novel  emotion,  and  if  any  mat- 
ter of  deep  interest  arises  in  the  path,  we  are 
pretty  sure  to  find  it  an  interest  appertaining  to 
some  historical  fact  equally  vivid  or  more  so  in 
the  original  chronicles. 

HOOD 

"  Frequently  since  his  recent  death,"  says  the 
American  editor  of  Hood,  "  he  has  been  called 
a  great  author  —  a  phrase  used  not  inconsider- 
ately or  in  vain."  Yet,  if  we  adopt  the  conven- 
tional idea  of  "  a  great  author,"  there  has  lived, 
perhaps,  no  writer  of  the  last  half -century  who, 
with  equal  notoriety,  was  less  entitled  than  Hood 
to  be  so  called.  In  fact,  he  was  a  literary  mer- 
chant, whose  main  stock  in  trade  was  littleness; 
for,  during  the  larger  portion  of  his  life,  he 
seemed  to  breathe  only  for  the  purpose  of  perpe- 
trating puns  —  things  of  so  despicable  a  plati- 
tude that  the  man  who  is  capable  of  habitually 
committing  them  is  seldom  found  capable  of  any- 
thing else.  Whatever  merit  may  be  discovered 
in  a  pun,  arises  altogether  from  unexpectedness. 
This  is  the  pun's  element,  and  is  two-fold.  First, 
we  demand  that  the  combination  of  the  pun  be 
unexpected;  and,  secondly,  we  require  the  most 
entire  unexpectedness  in  the  pun  per  se.  A  rare 
pun,  rarely  appearing,  is,  to  a  certain  extent,  a 
345 


MARGINALIA 

pleasurable  effect;  but  to  no  mind,  however  de- 
based in  taste,  is  a  continuous  effort  at  punning 
otherwise  than  unendurable.  The  man  who 
maintains  that  he  derives  gratification  from  any 
such  chapters  of  punnage  as  Hood  was  in  the 
daily  practice  of  committing  to  paper,  should 
not  be  credited  upon  oath. 

The  puns  of  the  author  of  "  Fair  Inez,"  how- 
ever, are  to  be  regarded  as  the  weak  points  of  the 
man.  Independently  of  their  ill  effect,  in  a  liter- 
ary view,  as  mere  puns,  they  leave  upon  us  a 
painful  impression,  for  too  evidently  they  are  the 
hypochondriac's  struggles  at  mirth  —  the  grin- 
nings  of  the  death's  head.  No  one  can  read  his 
"  Literary  Reminiscences "  without  being  con- 
vinced of  his  habitual  despondency:  —  and  the 
species  of  false  wit  in  question  is  precisely  of 
that  character  which  would  be  adopted  by  an 
author  of  Hood's  temperament  and  cast  of  in- 
tellect, when  compelled  to  write  at  an  emergency. 
That  his  heart  had  no  interest  in  these  maiseries, 
is  clear.  I  allude,  of  course,  to  his  mere  puns  for 
the  pun's  sake  —  a  class  of  letters  by  which  he 
attained  his  widest  renown.  That  he  did  more 
in  this  way  than  in  any  other,  is  but  a  corollary 
from  what  I  have  already  said,  for,  generally, 
he  was  unhappy,  and  almost  continually  he  wrote 
invita  Minerva.  But  his  true  province  was  a 
very  rare  and  ethereal  humor,  in  which  the  mere 
pun  was  left  out  of  sight,  or  took  the  character 
346 


MARGINALIA 

of  the  richest  grotesquerie ;  impressing  the  im- 
aginative reader  with  remarkable  force,  as  if  by 
a  new  phase  of  the  ideal.  It  is  in  this  species  of 
brilliant,  or,  rather,  glowing  grotesquerie,  ut- 
tered with  a  rushing  abandon  vastly  heightening 
its  effect,  that  Hood's  marked  originality  mainly 
consisted :  —  and  it  is  this  which  entitles  him,  at 
times,  to  the  epithet  "  great :  " —  for  that  unde- 
niably may  be  considered  great  (of  whatever 
seeming  littleness  in  itself)  which  is  capable  of 
inducing  intense  emotion  in  the  minds  or  hearts 
of  those  who  are  themselves  undeniably  great. 

The  field  in  which  Hood  is  distinctive  is  a 
borderland  between  Fancy  and  Fantasy.  In  this 
region  he  reigns  supreme.  Nevertheless,  he  has 
made  successful  and  frequent  incursions,  al- 
though vacillatingly,  into  the  domain  of  the  true 
Imagination.  I  mean  to  say  that  he  is  never 
truly  or  purely  imaginative  for  more  than  a  para- 
graph at  a  time.  In  a  word,  his  peculiar  genius 
was  the  result  of  vivid  Fancy  impelled  by  Hypo- 
chondriasis. 

WILSON 

That  Professor  Wilson  is  one  of  the  most 
gifted  and  altogether  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
men  of  his  day,  few  persons  will  be  weak  enough 
to  deny.  His  ideality  —  his  enthusiastic  appre- 
ciation of  the  beautiful,  conjoined  with  a  tempera- 
347 


MARGINALIA 

ment  compelling  him  into  action  and  expression, 
has  been  the  root  of  his  pre-eminent  success. 
Much  of  it,  undoubtedly,  must  be  referred  to 
that  so-called  moral  courage  which  is  but  the 
consequence  of  the  temperament  in  its  physical 
elements.  In  a  word,  Professor  Wilson  is  what 
he  is,  because  he  possesses  ideality,  energy,  and 
audacity,  each  in  a  very  unusual  degree.  The 
first,  almost  unaided  by  the  two  latter,  has  en- 
abled him  to  produce  much  impression,  as  a  poet, 
upon  the  secondary  or  tertiary  grades  of  the 
poetic  comprehension.  His  "  Isle  of  Palms  " 
appeals  effectively  to  all  those  poetic  intellects 
in  which  the  poetic  predominates  greatly  over 
the  intellectual  element.  It  is  a  composition 
which  delights  through  the  glow  of  its  imagina- 
tion, but  which  repels  (comparatively,  of  course) 
through  the  nlaiseries  of  its  general  conduct  and 
construction.  As  a  critic,  Professor  Wilson  has 
derived,  as  might  easily  be  supposed,  the  great- 
est aid  from  the  qualities  for  which  we  have  given 
him  credit  —  and  it  is  in  criticism  especially, 
that  it  becomes  very  difficult  to  say  which  of 
these  qualities  has  assisted  him  the  most.  It  is 
sheer  audacity,  however,  to  which,  perhaps,  after 
all,  he  is  the  most  particularly  indebted.  How 
little  he  owes  to  intellectual  pre-eminence,  and 
how  much  to  the  mere  overbearing  impetuosity  of 
his  opinions,  would  be  a  singular  subject  for 
speculation.  Nevertheless  it  is  true,  that  this 
348 


MARGINALIA 

rash  spirit  of  domination  would  have  served, 
without  his  rich  ideality,  but  to  hurry  him  into 
contempt.  Be  this  at  it  may,  in  the  first  requisite 
of  a  critic  the  Scotch  Aristarchus  is  grossly  de- 
ficient. Of  one  who  instructs  we  demand,  in  the 
first  instance,  a  certain  knowledge  of  the  prin- 
ciples which  regulate  the  instruction.  Professor 
Wilson's  capability  is  limited  to  a  keen  appre- 
ciation of  the  beautiful,  and  fastidious  sense  of 
the  deformed.  Why  or  how  either  is  either,  he 
never  dreams  of  pretending  to  inquire,  because  he 
sees  clearly  his  own  inability  to  comprehend.  He 
is  no  analyst.  He  is  ignorant  of  the  machinery  of 
his  own  thoughts  and  the  thoughts  of  other  men. 
His  criticism  is  emphatically  on  the  surface  — 
superficial.  His  opinions  are  mere  dicta  —  un- 
supported verba  magistri  —  and  are  just  or  un- 
just at  the  variable  taste  of  the  individual  who 
reads  them.  He  persuades  —  he  bewilders  — 
he  overwhelms  —  at  times  he  even  argues  —  but 
there  has  been  no  period  at  which  he  ever  demon- 
strated anything  beyond  his  own  utter  incapacity 
for  demonstration. 

D'lSRAELI 

One  of  the  most  singular  styles  in  the  world 

—  certainly  one  of  the  most  loose  —  is  that  of 

the  elder  D'Israeli.    For  example,  he  thus  begins 

his  chapter  on  Bibliomania:     "The  preceding 

349 


MARGINALIA 

article  [that  on  Libraries]  is  honorable  to  litera- 
ture." Here  no  self-praise  is  intended.  The 
writer  means  to  say  merely  that  the  facts  nar- 
rated in  the  preceding  article  are  honorable,  etc. 
Three-fourths  of  his  sentences  are  constructed 
in  a  similar  manner.  The  blunders  evidently 
arise,  however,  from  the  author's  preoccupation 
with  his  subject.  His  thought,  or  rather  mat- 
ter, outruns  his  pen,  and  drives  him  upon  con- 
densation at  the  expense  of  luminousness.  The 
manner  of  D'Israeli  has  many  of  the  traits  of 
Gibbon  —  although  little  of  the  latter's  precision. 

MARVELL 

How  truthful  an  air  of  deep  lamentation  hangs 
here *  upon  every  gentle  syllable !  It  pervades 
all.  It  comes  over  the  sweet  melody  of  the  words, 
over  the  gentleness  and  grace  which  we  fancy 
in  the  little  maiden  herself,  —  even  over  the 
half -playful,  half -petulant  air  with  which  she 
lingers  on  the  beauties  and  good  qualities  of 
her  favorite,  like  the  cool  shadow  of  a  summer 
cloud  over  a  bed  of  lilies  and  violets,  and  "  all 
sweet  flowers."  The  whole  thing  is  redolent  with 
poetry  of  the  very  loftiest  order.  It  is  positively 
crowded  with  nature  and  with  pathos.  Every 
line  is  an  idea,  conveying  either  the  beauty  and 

1  "  The  Nymph  complaining  for  the  Death  of  her  Fawn," 
by  Andrew  Marvell. 

350 


MARGINALIA 

playfulness  of  the  fawn,  or  the  artlessness  of  the 
maiden,  or  the  love  of  the  maiden,  or  her  ad- 
miration, or  her  grief,  or  the  fragrance,  and 
sweet  warmth,  and  perfect  appropriateness  of 
the  little  nest-like  bed  of  lilies  and  roses,  which 
the  fawn  devoured  as  it  lay  upon  them,  and  could 
scarcely  be  distinguished  from  them  by  the  once 
happy  little  damsel  who  went  to  seek  her  pet 
with  an  arch  and  rosy  smile  upon  her  face.  Con- 
sider the  great  variety  of  truth  and  delicate 
thought  in  the  few  lines  we  have  quoted  —  the 
wonder  of  the  maiden  at  the  fleetness  of  her 
favorite  —  the  "little  silver  feet"  —  the  fawn 
challenging  his  mistress  to  the  race,  "with  a 
pretty  skipping  grace,"  running  on  before,  and 
then,  with  head  turned  back,  awaiting  her  ap- 
proach only  to  fly  from  it  again  —  can  we  not 
distinctly  perceive  all  these  things?  The  ex- 
ceeding vigor,  too,  and  beauty  of  the  line, 

"  And  trod  as  if  on  the  four  winds," 

which  are  vividly  apparent  when  we  regard  the 
artless  nature  of  the  speaker,  and  the  four  feet 
of  the  favorite  —  one  for  each  wind.  Then  the 
garden  of  "  my  own"  so  overgrown  —  entangled 
—  with  lilies  and  roses  as  to  be  "  a  little  wilder- 
ness "  —  the  fawn  loving  to  be  there  and  there 
"only"  —  the  maiden  seeking  it  "where  it 
should  lie,"  and  not  being  able  to  distinguish  it 
from  the  flowers  until  "  itself  would  rise  "  —  the 
351 


MARGINALIA 

lying  among  the  lilies  "  like  a  bank  of  lilies  "  — 
the  loving  to  "  fill "  itself  with  roses, 

"And  its  pure  virgin  limbs  to  fold 
In  whitest  sheets  of  lilies  cold," 

and  these  things  being  its  "chief"  delights  — 
and  then  the  pre-eminent  beauty  and  naturalness 
of  the  concluding  lines  —  whose  very  outrageous 
hyperbole  and  absurdity  only  render  them  the 
more  true  to  nature  and  to  propriety,  when  we 
consider  the  innocence,  the  artlessness,  the  en- 
thusiasm, the  passionate  grief,  and  more  passion- 
ate admiration  of  the  bereaved  child. 

"  Had  it  lived  long  it  would  have  been 
Lilies  without  —  roses  within." 

PETRARCH 

We  are  not  among  those  who  regard  the  ge- 
nius of  Petrarch  as  a  subject  for  enthusiastic 
admiration.  The  characteristics  of  his  poetry 
are  not  traits  of  the  highest,  or  even  of  a  high 
order;  and  in  accounting  for  his  fame,  the  dis- 
criminating critic  will  look  rather  to  the  circum- 
stances which  surrounded  the  man,  than  to  the 
literary  merits  of  the  pertinacious  sonneteer. 
Grace  and  tenderness  we  grant  him  —  but  these 
qualities  are  surely  insufficient  to  establish  his 
poetical  apotheosis. 

In  other  respects  he  is  entitled  to  high  con- 
sideration. As  a  patriot,  notwithstanding  some 
352 


MARGINALIA 

accusations  which  have  been  rather  urged  than  es- 
tablished, we  can  only  regard  him  with  approval. 
In  his  republican  principles;  in  his  support  of 
Rienzi  at  the  risk  of  the  displeasure  of  the  Co- 
lonna  family;  in  his  whole  political  conduct,  in 
short,  he  seems  to  have  been  nobly  and  disin- 
terestedly zealous  for  the  welfare  of  his  country. 
But  Petrarch  is  most  important  when  we  look 
upon  him  as  the  bridge  by  which,  over  the  dark 
gulf  of  the  middle  ages,  the  knowledge  of  the  old 
world  made  its  passage  into  the  new.  His  in- 
fluence on  what  is  termed  the  revival  of  letters 
was,  perhaps,  greater  than  that  of  any  man  who 
ever  lived ;  certainly  far  greater  than  that  of  any 
of  his  immediate  contemporaries.  His  ardent 
zeal  in  recovering  and  transcribing  the  lost  trea- 
sures of  antique  lore  cannot  be  too  highly  ap- 
preciated. But  for  him,  many  of  our  most  valued 
classics  might  have  been  numbered  with  Pin- 
dar's hymns  and  dithyrambics.  He  devoted  days 
and  nights  to  this  labor  of  love;  snatching  nu- 
merous precious  books  from  the  very  brink  of 
oblivion.  His  judgment  in  these  things  was 
strikingly  correct,  while  his  erudition,  for  the 
age  in  which  he  lived,  and  for  the  opportunities 
he  enjoyed,  has  always  been  a  subject  of  sur- 
prise. 

BYEON 

"  Les  anges"  says  Madame  Dudevant,  a  wo- 
353 


MARGINALIA 

man  who  intersperses  many  an  admirable  senti- 
ment amid  a  chaos  of  the  most  shameless  and  al- 
together objectionable  fiction  —  "  Les  anges  ne 
sont  plus  pures  que  le  cceur  d'un  jeune  homme 
qui  aime  en  verite"  "  The  angels  are  not  more 
pure  than  the  heart  of  a  young  man  who  loves 
with  fervor."  The  hyperbole  is  scarcely  less  than 
true.  It  would  be  truth  itself,  were  it  averred  of 
the  love  of  him  who  is  at  the  same  time  young 
and  a  poet.  The  boyish  poet-love  is  indisputably 
that  one  of  the  human  sentiments  which  most 
nearly  realizes  our  dreams  of  the  chastened  vo- 
luptuousness of  heaven. 

In  every  allusion  made  by  the  author  of 
"  Childe  Harold  "  to  his  passion  for  Mary  Cha- 
worth,  there  runs  a  vein  of  almost  spiritual 
tenderness  and  purity,  strongly  in  contrast  with 
the  gross  earthliness  pervading  and  disfiguring 
his  ordinary  love-poems.  "  The  Dream,"  in 
which  the  incidents  of  his  parting  with  her  when 
about  to  travel  are  said  to  be  delineated,  or  at 
least  paralleled,  has  never  been  excelled  (cer- 
tainly never  excelled  by  him)  in  the  blended 
fervor,  delicacy,  truthfulness,  and  ethereality 
which  sublimate  and  adorn  it.  For  this  reason, 
it  may  well  be  doubted  if  he  has  written  any- 
thing so  universally  popular.  That  his  attach- 
ment for  this  "Mary"  (in  whose  very  name 
there  indeed  seemed  to  exist  for  him  an  "en- 
chantment") was  earnest  and  long-abiding,  we 
354 


MARGINALIA 

have  every  reason  to  believe.  There  are  a  hun- 
dred evidences  of  this  fact,  scattered  not  only 
through  his  own  poems  and  letters,  but  in  the 
memoirs  of  his  relatives,  and  contemporaries  in 
general.  But  that  it  was  thus  earnest  and  en- 
during, does  not  controvert,  in  any  degree,  the 
opinion  that  it  was  a  passion  (if  passion  it  can 
properly  be  termed)  of  the  most  thoroughly  ro- 
mantic, shadowy,  and  imaginative  character.  It 
was  born  of  the  hour,  and  of  the  youthful  neces- 
sity to  love,  while  it  was  nurtured  by  the  waters 
and  the  hills,  and  the  flowers,  and  the  stars.  It 
had  no  peculiar  regard  to  the  person,  or  to  the 
character,  or  to  the  reciprocating  affection  of 
Mary  Chaworth.  Any  maiden,  not  immediately 
and  positively  repulsive,  he  would  have  loved, 
under  the  same  circumstances  of  hourly  and  un- 
restricted communion,  such  as  the  engravings  of 
the  subject  shadow  forth.  They  met  without 
restraint  and  without  reserve.  As  mere  children 
they  sported  together;  in  boyhood  and  girlhood 
they  read  from  the  same  books,  sang  the  same 
songs,  or  roamed  hand  in  hand  through  the 
grounds  of  the  conjoining  estates.  The  result 
was  not  merely  natural  or  merely  probable  —  it 
was  as  inevitable  as  destiny  itself. 

In  view  of  a  passion  thus  engendered,  Miss 
Chaworth  (who  is  represented  as  possessed  of 
no  little  personal  beauty  and  some  accomplish- 
ments) could  not  have  failed  to  serve  sufficiently 
355 


MARGINALIA 

well  as  the  incarnation  of  the  ideal  that  haunted 
the  fancy  of  the  poet.  It  is  perhaps  better,  never- 
theless, for  the  mere  romance  of  the  love-passages 
between  the  two,  that  their  intercourse  was 
broken  up  in  early  life  and  never  uninterruptedly 
resumed  in  after  years.  Whatever  of  warmth, 
whatever  of  soul-passion,  whatever  of  the  truer 
nare  and  essentiality  of  romance  was  elicited  dur- 
ing the  youthful  association  is  to  be  attributed 
altogether  to  the  poet.  If  she  felt  at  all,  it  was 
only  while  the  magnetism  of  his  actual  presence 
compelled  her  to  feel.  If  she  responded  at  all, 
it  was  merely  because  the  necromancy  of  Ms 
words  of  fire  could  not  do  otherwise  than  extort 
a  response.  In  absence,  the  bard  bore  easily  with 
him  all  the  fancies  which  were  the  basis  of  his 
flame  —  a  flame  which  absence  itself  but  served 
to  keep  in  vigor;  while  the  less  ideal  but  at  the 
same  time  the  less  really  substantial  affection 
of  his  lady-love  perished  utterly  and  forthwith 
through  simple  lack  of  the  element  which  had 
fanned  it  into  being.  He  to  her,  in  brief,  was  a 
not  unhandsome  and  not  ignoble,  but  somewhat 
portionless,  somewhat  eccentric  and  rather  lame 
young  man.  She  to  him  was  the  Egeria  of  his 
dreams  —  the  Venus  Aphrodite  that  sprang,  in 
full  and  supernal  loveliness,  from  the  bright 
foam  upon  the  storm-tormented  ocean  of  his 
thoughts. 


356 


MARGINALIA 

PAULDING'S  "  WASHINGTON  " 

We  have  read  Mr.  Paulding's  "  Life  of  Wash- 
ington "  with  a  degree  of  interest  seldom  excited 
in  us  by  the  perusal  of  any  book  whatever.  We 
are  convinced  by  a  deliberate  examination  of  the 
design,  manner,  and  rich  material  of  the  work, 
that,  as  it  grows  in  age,  it  will  grow  in  the  estima- 
tion of  our  countrymen,  and,  finally,  will  not 
fail  to  take  a  deeper  hold  upon  the  public  mind, 
and  upon  the  public  affections,  than  any  work 
upon  the  same  subject,  or  of  a  similar  nature, 
which  has  been  yet  written  —  or,  possibly,  which 
may  be  written  hereafter.  Indeed,  we  cannot 
perceive  the  necessity  of  anything  farther  upon 
the  great  theme  of  Washington.  Mr.  Paulding 
has  completely  and  most  beautifully  filled  the 
vacuum  which  the  works  of  Marshall  and  Sparks 
have  left  open.  He  has  painted  the  boy,  the 
man,  the  husband,  and  the  Christian.  He  has 
introduced  us  to  the  private  affections,  aspira- 
tions, and  charities  of  that  hero  whose  affections 
of  all  affections  were  the  most  serene,  whose  as- 
pirations the  most  God-like,  and  whose  charities 
the  most  gentle  and  pure.  He  has  taken  us 
abroad  with  the  patriot-farmer  in  his  rambles 
about  his  homestead.  He  has  seated  us  in  his 
study  and  shown  us  the  warrior-Christian  in 
unobtrusive  communion  with  his  God.  He  has 
done  all  this  too,  and  more,  in  a  simple  and  quiet 
357 


MARGINALIA 

manner,  in  a  manner  peculiarly  his  own,  and 
which,  mainly  because  it  is  his  own,  cannot  fail 
to  be  exceedingly  effective.  Yet  it  is  very  pos- 
sible that  the  public  may,  for  many  years  to 
come,  overlook  the  rare  merits  of  a  work  whose 
want  of  arrogant  assumption  is  so  little  in  keep- 
ing with  the  usages  of  the  day,  and  whose  strik- 
ing simplicity  and  naivete  of  manner  give,  to  a 
cursory  examination,  so  little  evidence  of  the 
labor  of  composition.  We  have  no  fears,  how- 
ever, for  the  future.  Such  books  as  these  before 
us  go  down  to  posterity  like  rich  wines,  with  a 
certainty  of  being  more  valued  as  they  go.  They 
force  themselves,  with  the  gradual  but  rapidly 
accumulating  power  of  strong  wedges,  into  the 
hearts  and  understandings  of  a  community. 

In  regard  to  the  style  of  Mr.  Paulding's 
"Washington,"  it  would  scarcely  be  doing  it 
justice  to  speak  of  it  merely  as  well  adapted  to 
its  subject  and  to  its  immediate  design.  Per- 
haps a  rigorous  examination  would  detect  an  oc- 
casional want  of  euphony  and  some  inaccuracies 
of  syntactical  arrangement.  But  nothing  could 
be  more  out  of  place  than  any  such  examination 
in  respect  to  a  book  whose  forcible,  rich,  vivid, 
and  comprehensive  English  might  advantage- 
ously be  held  up  as  a  model  for  the  young  writers 
of  the  land.  There  is  no  better  literary  manner 
than  the  manner  of  Mr.  Paulding.  Certainly 
no  American,  and  possibly  no  living  writer  of 
358 


MARGINALIA 

England,  has  more  of  those  numerous  peculiari- 
ties which  go  to  the  formation  of  a  happy  style. 
It  is  questionable,  we  think,  whether  any  writer 
of  any  country  combines  as  many  of  these  pecu- 
liarities with  as  much  of  that  essential  negative 
virtue,  the  absence  of  affectation.  We  repeat, 
as  our  confident  opinion,  that  it  would  be  difficult, 
even  with  great  care  and  labor,  to  improve  upon 
the  general  manner  of  the  volumes  now  before 
us,  and  that  they  contain  many  long  individual 
passages  of  a  force  and  beauty  not  to  be  sur- 
passed by  the  finest  passages  of  the  finest  writers 
in  any  time  or  country.  It  is  this  striking  char- 
acter in  the  "  Washington  "  of  Mr.  Paulding  — 
striking  and  peculiar  indeed  at  a  season  when 
we  are  so  culpably  inattentive  to  all  matters  of 
this  nature  as  to  mistake  for  style  the  fine  airs 
at  second  hand  of  the  silliest  romancers  —  it  is 
this  character,  we  say,  which  should  insure  the 
fulfilment  of  the  writer's  principal  design,  in  the 
immediate  introduction  of  his  book  into  every 
respectable  academy  in  the  land. 

HUDSON 

Of  Berryer,  somebody  says  "  he  is  the  man  in 
whose  description  is  the  greatest  possible  con- 
sumption of  antithesis."  For  "description" 
read  "  lectures,"  and  the  sentence  would  apply 
well  to  Hudson,  the  lecturer  on  Shakespeare. 


MARGINALIA 

Antithesis  is  his  end  —  he  has  no  other.  He  does 
not  employ  it  to  enforce  thought,  but  he  gathers 
thought  from  all  quarters  with  the  sole  view  to  its 
capacity  for  antithetical  expression.  His  essays 
have  thus  only  paragraphical  effect;  as  wholes, 
they  produce  not  the  slightest  impression.  No 
man  living  could  say  what  it  is  Mr.  Hudson 
proposes  to  demonstrate;  and  if  the  question 
were  propounded  to  Mr.  Hudson  himself,  we 
can  fancy  how  particularly  embarrassed  he 
would  be  for  a  reply.  In  the  end,  were  he  to 
answer  honestly,  he  would  say  —  "  antithesis.'9 
As  for  his  reading,  Julius  Cgesar  would  have  said 
of  him  that  he  sang  ill,  and  undoubtedly  he  must 
have  "  gone  to  the  dogs  "  for  his  experience  in 
pronouncing  the  r  as  if  his  throat  were  bored  like 
a  rifle-barrel. 

NEWNHAM'S  "  HUMAN  MAGNETISM  " 

A  book  which  puzzles  me  beyond  measure, 
since,  while  agreeing  with  its  general  conclusions 
(except  where  it  discusses  prevision),  I  invaria- 
bly find  fault  with  the  reasoning  through  which 
the  conclusions  are  attained.  I  think  the  treatise 
grossly  illogical  throughout.  For  example,  the 
origin  of  the  work  is  thus  stated  in  an  intro- 
ductory chapter :  — 

"  About  twelve  months  since,  I  was  asked  by  some 
friends  to  write  a  paper  against  Mesmerism,  and  I  was 
furnished  with  materials  by  a  highly  esteemed  quondam 
360 


MARGINALIA 

pupil,  which  proved  incontestably  that  under  some  cir- 
cumstances the  operator  might  be  duped,  that  hundreds 
of  enlightened  persons  might  equally  be  deceived,  and 
certainly  went  far  to  show  that  the  pretended  science 
was  wholly  a  delusion  —  a  system  of  fraud  and  jugglery 
by  which  the  imaginations  of  the  credulous  were  held  in 
thraldom  through  the  arts  of  the  designing.  Perhaps  in 
an  evil  hour  I  assented  to  the  proposition  thus  made; 
but,  on  reflection,  I  found  that  the  facts  before  me  only 
led  to  the  direct  proof  that  certain  phenomena  might  be 
counterfeited;  and  the  existence  of  counterfeit  coin  is 
rather  a  proof  that  there  is  somewhere  the  genuine 
standard  gold  to  be  imitated." 

The  fallacy  here  lies  in  a  mere  variation  of 
what  is  called  "begging  the  question."  Coun- 
terfeit coin  is  said  to  prove  the  existence  of  gen- 
uine:—  this,  of  course,  is  no  more  than  the 
truism  that  there  can  be  no  counterfeit  where 
there  is  no  genuine  —  just  as  there  can  be  no 
badness  where  there  is  no  goodness  —  the  terms 
being  purely  relative.  But  because  there  can  be 
no  counterfeit  where  there  is  no  original,  does  it 
in  any  manner  follow  that  any  undemonstrated 
original  exists?  In  seeing  a  spurious  coin  we 
know  it  to  be  such  by  comparison  with  coins 
admitted  to  be  genuine;  but  were  no  coin  ad- 
mitted to  be  genuine,  how  should  we  establish 
the  counterfeit,  and  what  right  should  we  have 
to  talk  of  counterfeits  at  all?  Now,  in  the  case 
of  Mesmerism,  our  author  is  merely  begging  the 
admission.  In  saying  that  the  existence  of 
361 


MARGINALIA 

counterfeit  proves  the  existence  of  real  Mes- 
merism, he  demands  that  the  real  be  admitted. 
Either  he  demands  this  or  there  is  no  shadow  of 
force  in  his  proposition  — •  for  it  is  clear  that  we 
can  pretend  to  be  that  which  is  not.  A  man,  for 
instance,  may  feign  himself  a  sphinx  or  a  griffin, 
but  it  would  never  do  to  regard  as  thus  demon- 
strated the  actual  existence  of  either  griffins  or 
sphinxes.  A  word  alone  —  the  word  "  counter- 
feit "  —  has  been  sufficient  to  lead  Mr.  Newn- 
ham  astray.  People  cannot  be  properly  said  to 
"  counterfeit "  prevision,  etc.,  but  to  feign  these 
phenomena.  Dr.  Newnham's  argument,  of 
course,  is  by  no  means  original  with  him,  al- 
though he  seems  to  pride  himself  on  it  as  if  it 
were.  Dr.  More  says:  "That  there  should  be 
so  universal  a  fame  and  fear  of  that  which  never 
was,  nor  is,  nor  can  be  ever  in  the  world,  is  to  me 
the  greatest  miracle  of  all.  If  there  had  not 
been,  at  some  time  or  other,  true  miracles,  it  had 
not  been  so  easy  to  impose  on  the  people  by  false. 
The  alchemist  would  never  go  about  to  sophisti- 
cate metals,  to  pass  them  off  for  true  gold  and 
silver,  unless  that  such  a  thing  was  acknowl- 
edged as  true  gold  and  silver  in  the  world." 
This  is  precisely  the  same  idea  as  that  of  Dr. 
Newnham,  and  belongs  to  that  extensive  class 
of  argumentation  which  is  all  point  —  deriving 
its  whole  effect  from  epigrammatism.  That  the 
belief  in  ghosts,  or  in  a  Deity,  or  in  a  future  state, 


MARGINALIA 

or  in  anything  else  credible  or  incredible  —  that 
any  such  belief  is  universal  —  demonstrates  noth- 
ing more  than  that  which  needs  no  demonstration 

—  the  human  unanimity,  the  identity  of  con- 
struction in  the  human  brain,  an  identity  of  which 
the  inevitable  result  must  be  upon  the  whole 
similar  deductions  from  similar  data.    Most  es- 
pecially do  I  disagree  with  the  author  of  this 
book  in  his  (implied)  disparagement  of  the  work 
of  Chauncey  Hare  Townshend  —  a  work  to  be 
valued  properly  only  in  a  day  to  come. 

LONGFELLOW'S  "  PROEM  "  TO  "  THE  WAIT  " 

"  The  day  is  done,  and  the  darkness 

Falls  from  the  wings  of  night, 

As  a  feather  is  wafted  downward 

From  an  eagle  in  his  flight." 

The  single  feather  here  is  imperfectly  illustra- 
tive of  the  omniprevalent  darkness;  but  a  more 
especial  objection  is  the  likening  of  one  feather 
to  the  falling  of  another.  Night  is  personified  as 
a  bird,  and  darkness  —  the  feather  of  this  bird 

—  falls  from  it,  how?  —  as  another  feather  falls 
from    another    bird.      Why,    it    does    this    of 
course.    The  illustration  is  identical  —  that  is  to 
say,  null.    It  has  no  more  force  than  an  identical 
proposition  in  logic. 

The  conclusion  of  the  "  Proem  "  in  Mr.  Long- 
fellow's late  "Waif"  is  exceedingly  beautiful. 


MARGINALIA 

The  whole  poem  is  remarkable  in  this,  that  one 
of  its  principal  excellences  arises  from  what  is, 
generically,  a  demerit.  No  error,  for  example,  is 
more  certainly  fatal  in  poetry  than  defec- 
tive rhyihm\  but  here  the  slipshoddiness  is  so 
thoroughly  in  unison  with  the  nonchalant  air  of 
the  thoughts  —  which  again  are  so  capitally  ap- 
plicable to  the  thing  done  (a  mere  introduction 
of  other  people's  fancies)  —  that  the  effect  of  the 
looseness  of  rhythm  becomes  palpable,  and  we 
see  at  once  that  here  is  a  case  in  which  to  be 
correct  would  be  inartistic.  Here  are  three  of  the 
quatrains  — 

"  I  see  the  lights  of  the  village 

Gleam  through  the  rain  and  the  mist, 
And  a  feeling  of  sadness  comes  o'er  me 
That  my  soul  cannot  resist  — 

"  A  feeling  of  sadness  and  longing 

That  is  not  akin  to  pain, 
And  resembles  sorrow  only 
As  the  mist  resembles  the  rain. 

"  And  the  night  shall  be  filled  with  music, 

And  the  cares  that  infest  the  day 
Shall  fold  their  tents,  like  the  Arabs, 
And  as  silently  steal  away" 

Now  these  lines  are  not  to  be  scanned.    They 

are  referable  to  no  true  principles  of  rhythm. 

The  general  idea   is  that  of   a   succession  of 

anapaests;  yet  not  only  is  this  idea  confounded 

364 


MARGINALIA 

with  that  of  dactyls,  but  this  succession  is  im- 
properly interrupted  at  all  points  —  improperly, 
because  by  unequivalent  feet.  The  partial  pro- 
saicism  thus  brought  about,  however  (without 
any  interference  with  the  mere  melody) ,  becomes 
a  beauty  solely  through  the  nicety  of  its  adapta- 
tion to  the  tone  of  the  poem,  and  of  this  tone, 
again,  to  the  matter  in  hand.  In  his  keen  sense 
of  this  adaptation  (which  conveys  the  notion  of 
what  is  vaguely  termed  "ease"),  the  reader  so 
far  loses  sight  of  the  rhythmical  imperfection 
that  he  can  be  convinced  of  its  existence  only  by 
treating  in  the  same  rhythm  (or,  rather,  lack  of 
rhythm)  a  subject  of  different  tone  —  a  sub- 
ject in  which  decision  shall  take  the  place  of 
nonchalance.  Now,  undoubtedly,  I  intend  all 
this  as  complimentary  to  Mr.  Longfellow;  but  it 
was  for  the  utterance  of  these  very  opinions  in 
the  New  York  "Mirror"  that  I  was  accused, 
by  some  of  the  poet's  friends,  of  inditing  what 
they  think  proper  to  call  "strictures"  on  the 
author  of  "  Outre-Mer." 


ANNIHILATION 

We  might  contrive  a  very  poetical  and  very 
suggestive,  although,  perhaps,  no  very  tenable 
philosophy,  by  supposing  that  the  virtuous  live 
while  the  wicked  suffer  annihilation,  hereafter; 
and  that  the  danger  of  the  annihilation  (which 
365 


MARGINALIA 

danger  would  be  in  the  ratio  of  the  sin)  might  be 
indicated  nightly  by  slumber,  and  occasionally, 
with  more  distinctness,  by  a  swoon.  In  propor- 
tion to  the  dreamlessness  of  the  sleep,  for  ex- 
ample, would  be  the  degree  of  the  soul's  liability 
to  annihilation.  In  the  same  way,  to  swoon  and 
awake  in  utter  unconsciousness  of  any  lapse  of 
time  during  the  syncope  would  demonstrate  the 
soul  to  have  been  then  in  such  condition  that,  had 
death  occurred,  annihilation  would  have  followed. 
On  the  other  hand,  when  the  revival  is  attended 
with  remembrance  of  visions  (as  is  now  and  then 
the  case,  in  fact) ,  then  the  soul  is  to  be  considered 
in  such  condition  as  would  insure  its  existence 
after  the  bodily  death  —  the  bliss  or  wretched- 
ness of  the  existence  to  be  indicated  by  the  char- 
acter of  the  visions. 

THE  CKITIC 

When  we  attend  less  to  "  authority  "  and  more 
to  principles,  when  we  look  less  at  merit  and  more 
at  demerit  (instead  of  the  converse,  as  some  per- 
sons suggest),  we  shall  then  be  better  critics 
than  we  are.  We  must  neglect  our  models,  and 
study  our  capabilities.  The  mad  eulogies,  on 
what  occasionally  has,  in  letters,  been  well  done, 
spring  from  our  imperfect  comprehension  of 
what  it  is  possible  for  us  to  do  better.  "  A  man 
who  has  never  seen  the  sun,"  says  Calderon, 
366 


MARGINALIA 

"  cannot  be  blamed  for  thinking  that  no  glory 
can  exceed  that  of  the  moon;  a  man  who  has 
seen  neither  moon  nor  sun  cannot  be  blamed  for 
expatiating  on  the  incomparable  effulgence  of 
the  morning  star."  Now,  it  is  the  business  of 
the  critic  so  to  soar  that  he  shall  see  the  sun, 
even  although  its  orb  be  far  below  the  ordinary 
horizon. 

DEFOE 

While  Defoe  would  have  been  fairly  entitled 
to  immortality  had  he  never  written  "  Robinson 
Crusoe  "  yet  his  many  other  very  excellent  writ- 
ings have  nearly  faded  from  our  attention,  in 
the  superior  lustre  of  the  "Adventures  of  the 
Mariner  of  York."  What  better  possible  species 
of  reputation  could  the  author  have  desired  for 
that  book  than  the  species  which  it  has  so  long 
enjoyed?  It  has  become  a  household  thing  in 
nearly  every  family  in  Christendom.  Yet  never 
was  admiration  of  any  work  —  universal  admira- 
tion—  more  indiscriminately  or  more  inappro- 
priately bestowed.  Not  one  person  in  ten  —  nay, 
not  one  person  in  five  hundred  —  has,  during  the 
perusal  of  "  Robinson  Crusoe,"  the  most  remote 
conception  that  any  particle  of  genius,  or  even  of 
common  talent,  has  been  employed  in  its  crea- 
tion! Men  do  not  look  upon  it  in  the  light  of  a 
literary  performance.  Defoe  has  none  of  their 
thoughts  —  Robinson  all.  The  powers  which 
367 


MARGINALIA 

have  wrought  the  wonder  have  been  thrown  into 
obscurity  by  the  very  stupendousness  of  the 
wonder  they  have  wrought!  We  read,  and  be- 
come perfect  abstractions  in  the  intensity  of  our 
interest ;  we  close  the  book,  and  are  quite  satisfied 
that  we  could  have  written  as  well  ourselves.  All 
this  is  effected  by  the  potent  magic  of  verisimili- 
tude. Indeed  the  author  of  "  Crusoe  "  must  have 
possessed,  above  all  other  faculties,  what  has 
been  termed  the  faculty  of  identification  —  that 
dominion  exercised  by  volition  over  imagination, 
which  enables  the  mind  to  lose  its  own  in  a 
fictitious  individuality.  This  includes,  in  a  very 
great  degree,  the  power  of  abstraction ;  and  with 
these  keys  we  may  partially  unlock  the  mystery 
of  that  spell  which  has  so  long  invested  the 
volume  before  us.  But  a  complete  analysis  of 
our  interest  in  it  cannot  be  thus  afforded.  Defoe 
is  largely  indebted  to  his  subject.  The  idea  of 
man  in  a  state  of  perfect  isolation,  although  often 
entertained,  was  never  before  so  comprehensively 
carried  out.  Indeed  the  frequency  of  its  occur- 
rence to  the  thoughts  of  mankind  argued  the  ex- 
tent of  its  influence  on  their  sympathies,  while 
the  fact  of  no  attempt  having  been  made  to  give 
an  embodied  form  to  the  conception  went  to 
prove  the  difficulty  of  the  undertaking.  But  the 
true  narrative  of  Selkirk  in  1711,  with  the  power- 
ful impression  it  then  made  upon  the  public  mind, 
sufficed  to  inspire  Defoe  with  both  the  necessary 
368 


MARGINALIA 

courage  for  his  work,  and  entire  confidence  in  its 
success.    How  wonderful  has  been  the  result ! 

THE  DRAMA 

The  drama,  as  the  chief  of  the  imitative  arts, 
has  a  tendency  to  beget  and  keep  alive  in  its 
votaries  the  imitative  propensity.  This  might  be 
supposed  a  priori,  and  experience  confirms  the 
supposition.  Of  all  imitators,  dramatists  are  the 
most  perverse,  the  most  unconscionable,  or  the 
most  unconscious,  and  have  been  so  time  out  of 
mind.  Euripides  and  Sophocles  were  merely 
echoes  of  jJEschylus,  and  not  only  was  Terence 
Menander  and  nothing  beyond,  but  of  the  sole 
Roman  tragedies  extant  (the  ten  attributed  to 
Seneca),  nine  are  on  Greek  subjects.  Here, 
then,  is  cause  enough  for  the  "  decline  of  the 
drama,"  if  we  are  to  believe  that  the  drama  has 
declined.  But  it  has  not:  on  the  contrary,  during 
the  last  fifty  years  it  has  materially  advanced. 
All  other  arts,  however,  have,  in  the  same  in- 
terval, advanced  at  a  far  greater  rate  —  each 
very  nearly  in  the  direct  ratio  of  its  non-imitative- 
ness  —  painting,  for  example,  least  of  all  —  and 
the  effect  on  the  drama  is,  of  course,  that  of 
apparent  retrogradation. 

HEBEB 
The  qualities  of  Heber  are  well  understood. 


MARGINALIA 

His  poetry  is  of  a  high  order.  He  is  imaginative, 
glowing,  and  vigorous,  with  a  skill  in  the  manage- 
ment of  his  means  unsurpassed  by  that  of  any 
writer  of  his  time,  but  without  any  high  degree  of 
originality.  Can  there  be  anything  in  the  nature 
of  a  "  classical "  life  at  war  with  novelty  per  se? 
At  all  events,  few  fine  scholars,  such  as  Heber 
truly  was,  are  original. 

ORIGINAL  CHARACTERS 

Original  characters,  so  called,  can  only  be 
critically  praised  as  such,  either  when  presenting 
qualities  known  in  real  life  but  never  before  de- 
picted (a  combination  nearly  impossible),  or 
when  presenting  qualities  (moral,  or  physical,  or 
both)  which,  although  unknown,  or  even  known 
to  be  hypothetical,  are  so  skilfully  adapted  to  the 
circumstances  which  surround  them  that  our 
sense  of  fitness  is  not  offended,  and  we  find  our- 
selves seeking  a  reason  why  those  things  might 
not  have  been,  which  we  are  still  satisfied  are 
not.  The  latter  species  of  originality  appertains 
to  the  loftier  regions  of  the  Ideal. 

BEVERLY  TUCKER 

"  George  Balcombe,"  we  are  induced  to  regard, 

upon  the  whole,  as  the  best  American  novel. 

There  have  been  few  books  of  its  peculiar  kind, 

we   think,   written   in   any   country,   much  its 

370 


MARGINALIA 

superior.  Its  interest  is  intense  from  beginning 
to  end.  Talent  of  a  lofty  order  is  evinced  in 
every  page  of  it.  Its  most  distinguishing  fea- 
tures are  invention,  vigor,  almost  audacity,  of 
thought  —  great  variety  of  what  the  German 
critics  term  "  intrigue,"  and  exceeding  ingenuity 
and  finish  in  the  adaptation  of  its  component 
parts.  Nothing  is  wanting  to  a  complete  whole, 
and  nothing  is  out  of  place,  or  out  of  time. 
Without  being  chargeable  in  the  least  degree  with 
imitation,  the  novel  bears  a  strong  family  resem- 
blance to  the  "  Caleb  Williams "  of  Godwin. 
Thinking  thus  highly  of  "  George  Balcombe,"  we 
still  do  not  wish  to  be  understood  as  ranking  it 
with  the  more  brilliant  fictions  of  some  of  the  liv- 
ing novelists  of  Great  Britain.  In  regard  to  the 
authorship  of  the  book,  some  little  conversation 
has  occurred,  and  the  matter  is  still  considered  a 
secret.  But  why  so?  —  or  rather,  how  so?  The 
mind  of  the  chief  personage  of  the  story  is  the 
transcript  of  a  mind  familiar  to  us  —  an  uninten- 
tional transcript,  let  us  grant  —  but  still  one 
not  to  be  mistaken.  George  Balcombe  thinks, 
speaks,  and  acts  as  no  person,  we  are  con- 
vinced, but  Judge  Beverly  Tucker,  ever  precisely 
thought,  spoke,  or  acted  before. 

MILL 

Mill  says  that  he  has  "demonstrated"  his 
371 


MARGINALIA 

propositions.  Just  in  the  same  way  Anaxagoras 
demonstrated  snow  to  be  black  (which,  perhaps, 
it  is,  if  we  could  see  the  thing  in  the  proper  light) , 
and  just  in  the  same  way  the  French  advocate, 
Linguet,  with  Hippocrates  in  his  hand,  demon- 
strated bread  to  be  a  slow  poison.  The  worst  of 
the  matter  is,  that  propositions  such  as  these 
seldom  stay  demonstrated  long  enough  to  be 
thoroughly  understood. 

The  a  priori  reasoners  upon  government  are, 
of  all  plausible  people,  the  most  preposterous. 
They  only  argue  too  cleverly  to  permit  my  think- 
ing them  silly  enough  to  be  themselves  deceived 
by  their  own  arguments.  Yet  even  this  is  pos- 
sible ;  for  there  is  something  in  the  vanity  of  logic 
which  addles  a  man's  brains.  Your  true  logician 
gets,  in  time,  to  be  logicalized,  and  then,  so  far  as 
regards  himself,  the  universe  is  one  word.  A. 
thing,  for  him,  no  longer  exists.  He  deposits 
upon  a  sheet  of  paper  a  certain  assemblage  of 
syllables,  and  fancies  that  their  meaning  is  riveted 
by  the  act  of  deposition.  I  am  serious  in  the 
opinion  that  some  such  process  of  thought  passes 
through  the  mind  of  the  "  practised "  logician, 
as  he  makes  note  of  the  thesis  proposed.  He  is 
not  aware  that  he  thinks  in  this  way  —  but,  un- 
wittingly, he  so  thinks.  The  syllables  deposited 
acquire,  in  his  view,  a  new  character.  While 
afloat  in  his  brain,  he  might  have  been  brought 
372 


MARGINALIA 

to  admit  the  possibility  that  these  syllables  were 
variable  exponents  of  various  phases  of  thought ; 
but  he  will  not  admit  this  if  he  once  gets  them 
upon  the  paper. 

In  a  single  page  of  "  Mill,"  I  find  the  word 
"  force  "  employed  four  times;  and  each  employ- 
ment varies  the  idea.  The  fact  is  that  a  priori 
argument  is  much  worse  than  useless  except  in 
the  mathematical  sciences,  where  it  is  possible  to 
obtain  precise  meanings.  If  there  is  any  one  sub- 
ject in  the  world  to  which  it  is  utterly  and 
radically  inapplicable,  that  subject  is  Govern- 
ment. The  identical  arguments  used  to  sustain 
Mr.  Bentham's  positions,  might,  with  little  exer- 
cise of  ingenuity,  be  made  to  overthrow  them; 
and,  by  ringing  small  changes  on  the  words  "  leg 
of  mutton,"  and  "  turnip  "  (changes  so  gradual 
as  to  escape  detection)  I  could  "  demonstrate  " 
that  a  turnip  was,  is,  and  of  right  ought  to  be,  a 
leg  of  mutton. 

"IDOLS" 

Among  his  eidola  of  the  den,  the  tribe,  the 
forum,  the  theatre,  etc.,  Bacon  might  well  have 
placed  the  great  eidolon  of  the  parlor  (or  of  the 
wit,  as  I  have  termed  it  in  one  of  the  previous 
Marginalia)  — the  idol  whose  worship  blinds 
man  to  truth  by  dazzling  him  with  the  apposite. 
But  what  title  could  have  been  invented  for  that 
idol  which  has  propagated,  perhaps,  more  of 
373 


MARGINALIA 

gross  error  than  all  combined?  —  the  one,  I  mean, 
which  demands  from  its  votaries  that  they  recip- 
rocate cause  and  effect  —  reason  in  a  circle  — 
lift  themselves  from  the  ground  by  pulling  up 
their  pantaloons  —  and  carry  themselves  on  their 
own  heads,  in  hand-baskets,  from  Beersheba  to 
Dan. 

All  —  absolutely  all  the  argumentation  which 
I  have  seen  on  the  nature  of  the  soul,  or  of  the 
Deity,  seems  to  me  nothing  but  worship  of  this 
unnamable  idol.  "  Pour  savoir  ce  qu'est  Dieu" 
says  Bielfeld,  although  nobody  "listens  to  the 
solemn  truth,"  il  faut  etre  Dieu  meme  —  and  to 
reason  about  the  reason  is  of  all  things  the  most 
unreasonable.  At  least,  he  alone  is  fit  to  discuss 
the  topic  who  perceives  at  a  glance  the  insanity 
of  its  discussion. 

We  might  give  two  plausible  derivations  of  the 
epithet "  weeping  "  as  applied  to  the  willow.  We 
might  say  that  the  word  has  its  origin  in  the 
pendulous  character  of  the  long  branches,  which 
suggest  the  idea  of  water  dripping;  or  we  might 
assert  that  the  term  comes  from  a  fact  in  the 
natural  history  of  the  tree.  It  has  a  vast  in- 
sensible perspiration,  which,  upon  sudden  cold, 
condenses,  and  sometimes  is  precipitated  in  a 
shower.  Now,  one  might  very  accurately  deter- 
mine the  bias  and  value  of  a  man's  powers  of 
causality,  by  observing  which  of  these  two  deriva- 
374 


MARGINALIA 

tions  he  would  adopt.  The  former  is,  beyond 
question,  the  true;  and,  for  this  reason  —  that 
common  or  vulgar  epithets  are  universally  sug- 
gested by  common  or  immediately  obvious  things, 
without  strict  regard  of  any  exactitude  in  appli- 
cation: —  but  the  latter  would  be  greedily  seized 
by  nine  philologists  out  of  ten,  for  no  better 
cause  than  its  epigrammatism  —  than  the  point- 
edness  with  which  the  singular  fact  seems  to 
touch  the  occasion.  Here,  then,  is  a  subtle  source 
of  error  which  Lord  Bacon  has  neglected.  It 
is  an  Idol  of  the  Wit. 

COLERIDGE'S  "  TABLE  TALK  " 

The  title  of  this  book  deceives  us.  It  is  by  no 
means  "  talk  "  as  men  understand  it  —  not  that 
true  talk  of  which  Boswell  has  been  the  best 
historiographer.  In  a  word  it  is  not  gossip, 
which  has  been  never  better  defined  than  by  Basil, 
who  calls  it  "  talk  for  talk's  sake,"  nor  more 
thoroughly  comprehended  than  by  Horace  Wai- 
pole  and  Mary  Wortley  Montagu,  who  made 
it  a  profession  and  a  purpose.  Embracing  all 
things,  it  has  neither  beginning,  middle,  nor  end. 
Thus  of  the  gossiper  it  was  not  properly  said 
that  "he  commences  his  discourse  by  jumping 
in  mediae  res."  For,  clearly,  your  gossiper 
commences  not  at  all.  He  is  begun.  He  is 
already  begun.  He  is  always  begun.  In  the 
375 


MARGINALIA 

matter  of  the  end  he  is  indeterminate.  And  by 
these  extremes  shall  ye  know  him  to  be  of  the 
Caesars —  porphyrogenitus  —  of  the  right  vein 
—  of  the  true  blood  —  of  the  blue  blood  —  of 
the  sangre  azul.  As  for  laws,  he  is  cognizant 
of  but  one,  the  invariable  absence  of  all.  And 
for  his  road,  were  it  as  straight  as  the  Appia 
and  as  broad  as  that  "  which  leadeth  to  destruc- 
tion," nevertheless  would  he  be  malcontent  with- 
out a  frequent  hop-skip-and-jump  over  the 
hedges  into  the  tempting  pastures  of  digression 
beyond.  Such  is  the  gossiper,  and  of  such  alone  is 
the  true  talk.  But  when  Coleridge  asked  Lamb 
if  he  had  ever  heard  him  preachy  the  answer  was 
quite  happy  —  "I  have  never  heard  you  do  any- 
thing else."  The  truth  is  that  "Table  Dis- 
course" might  have  answered  as  a  title  to 
this  book;  but  its  character  can  be  fully  con- 
veyed only  in  "  Post-Prandian  Sub-Sermons," 
or  "  Three-Bottle  Sermonoids." 

ANTIQUE  POETEY 

It  cannot,  we  think,  be  a  matter  of  doubt  with 
any  reflecting  mind,  that  at  least  one-third  of 
the  reverence,  or  of  the  affection,  with  which  we 
regard  the  elder  poets  of  Great  Britian,  should 
be  credited  to  what  is,  in  itself,  a  thing  apart 
from  poetry  —  we  mean  to  the  simple  love  of 
the  antique;  and  that  again  a  third  of  even  the 
376 


MARGINALIA 

proper  poetic  sentiment  inspired  by  these  writ- 
ings should  be  ascribed  to  a  fact  which,  while  it 
has  a  strict  connection  with  poetry  in  the  abstract, 
and  also  with  the  particular  poems  in  question, 
must  not  be  looked  upon  as  a  merit  appertain- 
ing to  the  writers  of  the  poems.  Almost  every 
devout  reader  of  the  old  English  bards,  if  de- 
manded his  opinion  of  their  productions,  would 
mention  vaguely,  yet  with  perfect  sincerity,  a 
sense  of  dreamy,  wild,  indefinite,  and,  he  would 
perhaps  say,  undefinable  delight.  Upon  being 
required  to  point  out  the  source  of  this  so 
shadowy  pleasure,  he  would  be  apt  to  speak  of 
the  quaint  in  phraseology  and  of  the  grotesque 
in  rhythm.  And  this  quaintness  and  grotesque- 
ness  are,  as  we  have  elsewhere  endeavored  to 
show,  very  powerful,  and,  if  well  managed,  very 
admissible  adjuncts  to  ideality.  But  in  the 
present  instance  they  arise  independently  of  the 
author's  will,  and  are  matters  altogether  apart 
from  his  intention. 

FASHIONABLE  NOVELS 

Among  the  moralists  who  keep  themselves 
erect  by  the  perpetual  swallowing  of  pokers,  it 
is  the  fashion  to  decry  the  "  fashionable  "  novels. 
These  works  have  then-  demerits;  but  a  vast  in- 
fluence which  they  exert  for  an  undeniable  good, 
has  never  yet  been  duly  considered. 
377 


MARGINALIA 

"  Ingenue*  didicisse  fideliter  libros 
Emollit  mores  nee  sinitesse  feros." 

Now,  the  fashionable  novels  are  just  the  books 
which  most  do  circulate  among  the  class  un- 
fashionable; and  their  effect  in  softening  the 
worst  callosities  —  in  smoothing  the  most  disgust- 
ing asperities  of  vulgarism,  is  prodigious.  With 
the  herd,  to  admire  and  to  attempt  imitation  are 
the  same  thing.  What  if,  in  this  case,  the  man- 
ners imitated  are  frippery;  better  frippery  than 
brutality  —  and,  after  all,  there  is  little  danger 
that  the  intrinsic  value  of  the  sturdiest  iron 
will  be  impaired  by  a  coating  of  even  the  most 
diaphanous  gilt. 

TENNYSON 

I  am  not  sure  that  Tennyson  is  not  the  greatest 
of  poets.  The  uncertainty  attending  the  public 
conception  of  the  term  "  poet "  alone  prevents 
me  from  demonstrating  that  he  is.  Other  bards 
produce  effects  which  are,  now  and  then,  other- 
wise produced  than  by  what  we  call  poems;  but 
Tennyson  an  effect  which  only  a  poem  does. 
His  alone  are  idiosyncratic  poems.  By  the 
enjoyment  or  non-enjoyment  of  the  "  Morte 
D'Arthur,"  or  of  the  "  CEnone,"  I  would  test 
any  one's  ideal  sense.  There  are  passages  in 
his  works  which  rivet  a  conviction  I  had  long 
entertained,  that  the  indefinite  is  an  element  in 
378 


MARGINALIA 

the  true  notyjoic.  Why  do  some  persons  fatigue 
themselves  in  attempts  to  unravel  such  fantasy- 
pieces  as  "  The  Lady  of  Shalott "?  As  well  un- 
weave the  "ventum  textilem"  If  the  author 
did  not  deliberately  propose  to  himself  a  sug- 
gestive indefinitiveness  of  meaning,  with  the 
view  of  bringing  about  a  definitiveness  of  vague 
and  therefore  of  spiritual  effect  —  this,  at  least, 
arose  from  the  silent  analytical  promptings  of 
that  poetic  genius  which,  in  its  supreme  develop- 
ment, embodies  all  orders  of  intellectual  capac- 
ity. I  know  that  indefinitiveness  is  an  element 
of  the  true  music  —  I  mean  of  the  true  musical 
expression.  Give  to  it  any  undue  decision  — 
imbue  it  with  any  very  determinate  tone  —  and 
you  deprive  it,  at  once,  of  its  ethereal,  its  ideal, 
its  intrinsic  and  essential  character.  You  dispel 
its  luxury  of  dream.  You  dissolve  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  mystic  upon  which  it  floats.  You 
exhaust  it  of  its  breath  of  feary.  It  now  be- 
comes a  tangible  and  easily  appreciable  idea  — 
a  thing  of  the  earth,  earthy.  It  has  not,  indeed, 
lost  its  power  to  please,  but  all  which  I  consider 
the  distinctiveness  of  that  power.  And  to  the 
uncultivated  talent,  or  to  the  unimaginative 
apprehension,  this  deprivation  of  its  most  deli- 
cate nare  will  be,  not  unfrequently,  a  recom- 
mendation. A  determinateness  of  expression 
is  sought  —  and  often  by  composers  who  should 
know  better  —  is  sought  as  a  beauty  rather  than 
379 


MARGINALIA 

rejected  as  a  blemish.  Thus  we  have,  even  from 
high  authorities,  attempts  at  absolute  imitation 
in  music.  Who  can  forget  the  silliness  of  the 
"  Battle  of  Prague  "?  What  man  of  taste  but 
must  laugh  at  the  interminable  drums,  trumpets, 
blunderbusses,  and  thunder?  "  Vocal  music," 
says  L'Abbate  Gravina,  who  would  have  said 
the  same  thing  of  instrumental,  "  ought  to  imitate 
the  natural  language  of  the  human  feelings  and 
passions,  rather  than  the  warblings  of  Canary 
birds,  which  our  singers,  now-a-days,  affect  so 
vastly  to  mimic  with  their  quaverings  and 
boasted  cadences."  This  is  true  only  so  far  as 
the  "  rather  "  is  concerned.  If  any  music  must 
imitate  anything,  it  were  assuredly  better  to 
limit  the  imitation  as  Gravina  suggests.  Tenny- 
son's shorter  pieces  abound  in  minute  rhythmical 
lapses  sufficient  to  assure  me  that  —  in  common 
with  all  poets  living  or  dead  —  he  has  neglected 
to  make  precise  investigation  of  the  principles 
of  metre;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  so  perfect  is 
his  rhythmical  instinct  in  general,  that,  like  the 
present  Viscount  Canterbury,  he  seems  to  see 
with  his  ear. 

DKEAMS 

Some    Frenchman  —  possibly    Montaigne  — 

says:    "  People  talk  about  thinking,  but  for  my 

part  I  never  think,  except  when  I  sit  down  to 

write."     It  is  this  never  thinking,  unless  when 

380 


MARGINALIA 

we  sit  down  to  write,  which  is  the  cause  of 
so  much  indifferent  composition.  But  perhaps 
there  is  something  more  involved  in  the  French- 
man's observation  than  meets  the  eye.  It  is 
certain  that  the  mere  act  of  inditing  tends,  in  a 
great  degree,  to  the  logicalization  of  thought. 
Whenever,  on  account  of  its  vagueness,  I  am 
dissatisfied  with  a  conception  of  the  brain,  I  re- 
sort forthwith  to  the  pen,  for  the  purpose  of 
obtaining,  its  aid,  the  necessary  form,  conse- 
quence, and  precision. 

How  very  commonly  we  hear  it  remarked, 
that  such  and  such  thoughts  are  beyond  the 
compass  of  words!  I  do  not  believe  that  any 
thought,  properly  so  called,  is  out  of  the  reach 
of  language.  I  fancy,  rather,  that  where  diffi- 
culty in  expression  is  experienced,  there  is,  in  the 
intellect  which  experiences  it,  a  want  either  of 
deliberateness  or  of  method.  For  my  own  part, 
I  have  never  had  a  thought  which  I  could  not 
set  down  in  words  with  even  more  distinctness 
than  that  with  which  I  conceived  it;  as  I  have 
before  observed,  the  thought  is  logicalized  by 
the  effort  at  (written)  expression.  There  is, 
however,  a  class  of  fancies,  of  exquisite  delicacy, 
which  are  not  thoughts,  and  to  which,  as  yet,  I 
have  found  it  absolutely  impossible  to  adapt 
language.  I  used  the  word  "  fancies  "  at  random, 
and  merely  because  I  must  use  some  word;  but 
the  idea  commonly  attached  to  the  term  is  not 
381 


MARGINALIA 

even  remotely  applicable  to  the  shadows  of 
shadows  in  question.  They  seem  to  me  rather 
psychal  than  intellectual.  They  arise  in  the  soul 
(alas,  how  rarely!)  only  at  its  epochs  of  most 
intense  tranquillity  —  when  the  bodily  and  men- 
tal health  are  in  perfection  —  and  at  those  mere 
points  of  time  where  the  confines  of  the  waking 
world  blend  with  those  of  the  world  of  dreams. 
I  am  aware  of  these  "  fancies  "  only  when  I  am 
upon  the  very  brink  of  sleep,  with  the  conscious- 
ness that  I  am  so.  I  have  satisfied  myself  that 
this  condition  exists  but  for  an  inappreciable 
point  of  time — yet  it  is  crowded  with  these 
"  shadows  of  shadows ;  "  and  for  absolute  thought 
there  is  demanded  time's  endurance.  These 
"  fancies  "  have  in  them  a  pleasurable  ecstasy, 
as  far  beyond  the  most  pleasurable  of  the 
world  of  wakefulness,  or  of  dreams,  as  the 
heaven  of  the  Northman  theology  is  beyond  its 
hell.  I  regard  the  visions,  even  as  they  arise,  with 
an  awe  which,  in  some  measure,  moderates  or 
tranquillizes  the  ecstasy  —  I  so  regard  them, 
through  a  conviction  (which  seems  a  portion  of 
the  ecstasy  itself)  that  this  ecstasy,  in  itself, 
is  of  a  character  supernal  to  the  human  nature, 
is  a  glimpse  of  the  spirit's  outer  world;  and 
I  arrive  at  this  conclusion,  if  this  term  is  at 
all  applicable  to  instantaneous  intuition,  by  a 
perception  that  the  delight  experienced  has,  as 
its  element,  but  the  absoluteness  of  novelty.  I 
382 


MARGINALIA 

say  the  absoluteness;  for  in  these  fancies  —  let 
me  now  term  them  psychal  impressions  —  there 
is  really  nothing  even  approximate  in  character 
to  impressions  ordinarily  received.  It  is  as  if 
the  five  senses  were  supplanted  by  five  myriad 
others  alien  to  mortality. 

Now,  so  entire  is  my  faith  in  the  power  of 
words,  that,  at  times,  I  have  believed  it  possible 
to  embody  even  the  evanescence  of  fancies  such 
as  I  have  attempted  to  describe.  In  experiments 
with  this  end  in  view,  I  have  proceeded  so  far  as, 
first,  to  control  (when  the  bodily  and  mental 
health  are  good)  the  existence  of  the  condition: 
—  that  is  to  say,  I  can  now  (unless  when  ill)  be 
sure  that  the  condition  will  supervene,  if  I  so 
wish  it,  at  the  point  of  time  already  described:  — 
of  its  supervention,  until  lately,  I  could  never 
be  certain,  even  under  the  most  favorable  cir- 
cumstances. I  mean  to  say,  merely,  that  now 
I  can  be  sure,  when  all  circumstances  are  favor- 
able, of  the  supervention  of  the  condition,  and 
feel  even  the  capacity  of  inducing  or  compelling 
it:  —  the  favorable  circumstances,  however,  are 
not  the  less  rare  —  else  had  I  compelled,  already, 
the  heaven  into  the  earth. 

I  have  proceeded  so  far,  secondly,  as  to  pre- 
vent the  lapse  from  the  point  of  which  I  speak  — 
the  point  of  blending  between  wakefulness  and 
sleep  —  as  to  prevent  at  will,  I  say,  the  lapse 
from  this  borderground  into  the  dominion  of 


MARGINALIA 

sleep.  Not  that  I  can  continue  the  condition  — 
not  that  I  can  render  the  point  more  than  a  point 
—  but  that  I  can  startle  myself  from  the  point 
into  wakefulness,  and  thus  transfer  the  point  it- 
self into  the  realm  of  Memory;  convey  its  im- 
pressions, or  more  properly  their  recollections,  to 
a  situation  where  (although  still  for  a  very  brief 
period)  I  can  survey  them  with  the  eye  of  analy- 
sis. For  these  reasons — that  is  to  say,  be- 
cause I  have  been  enabled  to  accomplish  thus 
much  —  I  do  not  altogether  despair  of  embody- 
ing in  words  at  least  enough  of  the  fancies  in 
question  to  convey  to  certain  classes  of  intellect 
a  shadowy  conception  of  their  character.  In  say- 
ing this  I  am  not  to  be  understood  as  supposing 
that  the  fancies,  or  psychal  impressions,  to  which 
I  allude,  are  confined  to  my  individual  self  —  are 
not,  in  a  word,  common  to  all  mankind,  for  on 
this  point  it  is  quite  impossible  that  I  should  form 
an  opinion;  but  nothing  can  be  more  certain  than 
that  even  a  partial  record  of  the  impressions 
would  startle  the  universal  intellect  of  mankind 
by  the  supremeness  of  the  novelty  of  the  material 
employed  and  of  its  consequent  suggestions.  In 
a  word,  should  I  ever  write  a  paper  on  this  topic, 
the  world  will  be  compelled  to  acknowledge  that, 
at  last,  I  have  done  an  original  thing. 

A  SUGGESTION  FOR  A  MAGAZINE  ARTICLE 

Here  is  a  good  idea  for  a  magazine  paper;  let 
384 


MARGINALIA 

somebody  "  work  it  up : "  —  A  flippant  pretender 
to  universal  acquirement  —  a  would-be  Crichton 
engrosses,  for  an  hour  or  two,  perhaps,  the  at- 
tention of  a  large  company,  most  of  whom  are 
profoundly  impressed  by  his  knowledge.  He  is 
very  witty,  in  especial,  at  the  expense  of  a  modest 
young  gentleman,  who  ventures  to  make  no  re- 
ply, and  wJio,  finally,  leaves  the  room  as  if  over- 
whelmed with  confusion;  the  Crichton  greeting 
his  exit  with  a  laugh.  Presently  he  returns,  fol- 
lowed by  a  footman  carrying  an  armful  of  books. 
These  are  deposited  on  the  table.  The  young 
gentleman,  now,  referring  to  some  pencilled  notes 
which  he  had  been  secretly  taking  during  the 
Crichton's  display  of  erudition,  pins  the  latter 
to  his  statements,  each  by  each,  and  refutes  them 
all  in  turn,  by  reference  to  the  very  authorities 
cited  by  the  egotist  himself,  whose  ignorance  at 
all  points  is  thus  made  apparent. 

RELIGION 

After  reading  all  that  has  been  written,  and 
after  thinking  all  that  can  be  thought,  on  the 
topics  of  God  and  the  soul,  the  man  who  has  a 
right  to  say  that  he  thinks  at  all  will  find  him- 
self face  to  face  with  the  conclusion  that,  on  these 
topics,  the  most  profound  thought  is  that  which 
can  be  the  least  easily  distinguished  from  the 
most  superficial  sentiment. 


385 


MARGINALIA 
REFORM 

"  If  in  any  point,"  says  Lord  Bacon,  "  I  have 
receded  from  what  is  commonly  received,  it  hath 
been  for  the  purpose  of  proceeding  melius  and 
not  in  aliud"  —  but  the  character  assumed,  in 
general,  by  modern  "  Reform  "  is,  simply,  that 
of  Opposition. 

The  modern  reformist  philosophy  which  an- 
nihilates the  individual  by  way  of  aiding  the 
mass,  and  the  late  reformist  legislation,  which 
prohibits  pleasure  with  the  view  of  advancing 
happiness,  seem  to  be  chips  of  that  old  block  of 
a  French  feudal  law  which,  to  prevent  young 
partridges  from  being  disturbed,  imposed  pen- 
alties upon  hoeing  and  weeding. 

PAULUS  Jovius 

Paulus  Jovius,  living  in  those  benighted  times 
when  diamond-pointed  styluses  were  as  yet  un- 
known, thought  proper,  nevertheless,  to  speak 
of  his  goose-quill  as  "  aliquando  ferreus,  aureus 
aliquando  "  —  intending,  of  course,  a  mere  figure 
of  speech ;  and  from  the  class  of  modern  authors 
who  use  really  nothing  to  write  with  but  steel 
and  gold,  some,  no  doubt,  will  let  their  pens, 
vice  versa,  descend  to  posterity  under  the  desig- 
nation of  "  anserine  "  —  of  course,  intending  al- 
ways a  mere  figure  of  speech. 


MARGINALIA 

CARLYLESE 

The  Carlyle-ists  should  adopt,  as  a  motto,  the 
inscription  on  the  old  bell  from  whose  metal  was 
cast  the  Great  Tom,  of  Oxford:  —  "  In  Thomce 
laude  resono  *  Bim !  Bom ! '  sine  f raude :  "  —  and 
."  Bim!  Bom,"  in  such  case,  would  be  a  marvel- 
lous "  echo  of  sound  to  sense." 

MAN,  A  COSMOPOLITE 

An  infinity  of  error  makes  its  way  into  our 
Philosophy,  through  man's  habit  of  considering 
himself  a  citizen  of  a  world  solely  —  of  an  in- 
dividual planet  —  instead  of  at  least  occasionally 
contemplating  his  position  as  cosmopolite  proper 
—  as  a  denizen  of  the  universe. 

A  PUN 

Talking  of  puns:  —  "Why  do  they  not  give 
us  quail  for  dinner,  as  usual? "  demanded  Count 

Fessis,  the  other  day,  of  H ,  the  classicist 

and  sportsman. 

"  Because  at  this  season,"  replied  H ,  who 

was  dozing,  —  "  qualis  sopor  fessis"     (Quail  is 
so  poor,  Fessis.) 

TBANSCENDENTAL  CEITICISM 

The  German  "  Schwarmerei"  —  not  exactly 
"  humbug,"  but  "  sky-rocketing  "  —  seems  to  be 
387 


MARGINALIA 

the  only  term  by  which  we  can  conveniently  des- 
ignate that  peculiar  style  of  criticism  which  has 
lately  come  into  fashion,  through  the  influence 
of  certain  members  of  the  Fabian  family  —  peo- 
ple who  live  (upon  beans)  about  Boston. 

TRUTH 

"  This  is  right,"  says  Epicurus,  "  precisely  be- 
cause the  people  are  displeased  with  it." 

"  II  y  a  a  parier"  says  Chamfort  —  one  of  the 
Kamkars  of  Mirabeau  —  "  que  toute  idee  pub- 
lique,  toute  convention  repue,  est  une  sottise  car 
elle  a  convenu  au  plus  grand  nombre" 

"  Si  proficere  cupis"  says  the  great  African 
bishop,  "  primo  id  verum  puta  quod  sana  mens 
omnium  hominum  attestatur" 

Now, 

"Who  shall  decide  where  Doctors  disagree?" 

To  me  it  appears  that,  in  all  ages,  the  most 
preposterous  falsities  have  been  received  as  truths 
by  at  least  the  mens  omnium  hominum.  As  for 
the  sana  mens  —  how  are  we  ever  to  determine 
what  that  is? 

JUSTICE 

'-  What  can  be  more  soothing,  at  once  to  a  man's 
pride  and  to  his  conscience,  than  the  conviction 
that,  in  taking  vengeance  on  his  enemies  for  in- 
justice done  him,  he  has  simply  to  do  them  justice 
in  return. 

388 


MARGINALIA 
HAGUE 

Brown,  in  his  "  Amusements,"  speaks  of  hav- 
ing transfused  the  blood  of  an  ass  into  the  veins 
of  an  astrological  quack  —  and  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  one  of  Hague's  progenitors  was  the 
man. 

Vox  POPUU 

The  vox  populi,  so  much  talked  about  to  so 
little  purpose,  is,  possibly,  that  very  vox  et  prce- 
tera  nihil  which  the  countryman,  in  Catullus,  mis- 
took for  a  nightingale. 

A  TYPOGRAPHICAL  ERROR 

In  examining  trivial  details,  we  are  apt  to 

overlook  essential  generalities.    Thus  M ,  in 

making  a  to-do  about  the  "  typographical  mis- 
takes "  in  his  book,  has  permitted  the  printer  to 
escape  a  scolding  which  he  did  richly  deserve  — 
a  scolding  for  a  "typographical  mistake"  of 
really  vital  importance  —  the  mistake  of  having 
printed  the  book  at  all. 

TRANSCENDENTAL  DICTION 

It  has  been  well  said  of  the  French  orator, 
Dupin,  that  "  he  spoke,  as  nobody  else,  the  lan- 
guage of  everybody;  "  and  thus  his  manner  seems 
to  be  exactly  conversed  in  that  of  the  Frogpon- 
dian  Euphuists,  who,  on  account  of  the  familiar 
tone  in  which  they  lisp  their  outr6  phrases,  may 
389 


MARGINALIA 

be  said  to  speak,  as  everybody,  the  language  of 
nobody  —  that  is  to  say,  a  language  emphatically 
their  own. 

DE  MEYER 

Mozart  declared,  on  his  death-bed,  that  he 
u  began  to  see  what  may  be  done  in  music ;  "  and 
it  is  to  be  hoped  that  De  Meyer  and  the  rest  of 
the  spasmodists  will,  eventually,  begin  to  under- 
stand what  may  not  be  done  in  this  particular 
branch  of  the  Fine  Arts. 

SUN  AND  MOON 

"  All  in  a  hot  and  copper  sky 

The  bloody  sun  at  noon 
Just  up  above  the  mast  did  stand, 
No  bigger  than  the  moon." 

COLERIDGE. 

Is  it  possible  that  the  poet  did  not  know  the 
apparent  diameter  of  the  moon  to  be  greater  than 
that  of  the  sun? 

"  CAMOENS  "  —  GENOA  — 1798 

Here  is  an  edition,  which,  so  far  as  microscop- 
ical excellence  and  absolute  accuracy  of  typog- 
raphy are  concerned,  might  well  be  prefaced 
with  the  phrase  of  the  Koran  —  "There  is  no 
error  in  this  book."  We  cannot  call  a  single  in- 
verted o,  an  error  —  can  we?  But  I  am  really 
as  glad  of  having  found  that  inverted  o,  as  ever 
was  a  Columbus  or  an  Archimedes.  What,  after 
390 


MARGINALIA 

all,  are  continents  discovered,  or  silversmiths  ex- 
posed? Give  us  a  good  o  turned  upsidedown, 
and  a  whole  herd  of  bibliomaniac  Arguses  over- 
looking it  for  years! 

FRENCH  RYTHM 

At  Ermenonville,  there  is  a  striking  instance 
of  the  Gallic  rhythm  with  which  a  Frenchman 
regards  the  English  verse.  There  Gerardin  has 
the  following  inscription  to  the  memory  of  Shen- 
stone:  — 

"  This  plain  stone 

To  William  Shenstone. 
In  his  writings  he  displayed 

A  mind  natural; 
At  Leasowes  he  laid 

Arcadian  greens  rural." 

There  are  few  Parisians,  speaking  English,  who 
would  find  anything  particularly  the  matter  with 
this  epitaph. 

ODORS 

I  believe  that  odors  have  an  altogether  peculiar 
force,  in  affecting  us  through  association;  a  force 
differing  essentially  from  that  of  objects  address- 
ing the  touch,  the  taste,  the  sight,  or  the  hearing. 

A  REPORT 

I  cannot  say  that  I  ever  fairly  comprehended 
the  force  of  the  term  "  insult"  until  I  was  given 
391 


MARGINALIA 

to  understand,  one  day,  by  a  member  of  the 
"  North  American  Review "  clique,  that  this 
journal  was  "  not  only  willing  but  anxious  to 
render  me  that  justice  which  had  been  already 
rendered  me  by  the  Revue  Franpaise  and  the 
Revue  des  Deux  Mondes "  —  but  was  "  re- 
strained from  so  doing  "  by  my  "  invincible  spirit 
of  antagonism."  I  wish  the  "  North  American 
Review  "  to  express  no  opinion  of  me  whatever 
—  for  I  have  none  of  it.  In  the  mean  time,  as 
I  see  no  motto  on  its  titlepage,  let  me  recommend 
it  one  from  Sterne's  "  Letter  from  France." 
Here  it  is :  —  "  As  we  rode  along  the  valley  we 
saw  a  herd  of  asses  on  the  top  of  one  of  the  moun- 
tains—  how  they  viewed  and  reviewed  us!  " 

STAGE  EFFECT 

Von  Raumer  says  that  Enslen,  a  German  op- 
tician, conceived  the  idea  of  throwing  a  shadowy 
figure,  by  optical  means,  into  the  chair  of  Ban- 
quo;  and  that  the  thing  was  readily  done.  In- 
tense effect  was  produced;  and  I  do  not  doubt 
that  an  American  audience  might  be  electrified 
by  the  feat.  But  our  managers  not  only  have  no 
invention  of  their  own,  but  no  energy  to  avail 
themselves  of  that  of  others. 

CARLYLE 

The  next  work  of  Carlyle  will  be  entitled 
"  Bow- Wow,"  and  the  titlepage  will  have  a  motto 
392 


MARGINALIA 

from  the  opening  chapter  of  the  Koran:  "  There 
is  no  error  in  this  book." 


A  DISTANT  VIEW 

When and pavoneggiarsi  about  the 

celebrated  personages  whom  they  have  "  seen  " 
in  their  travels,  we  shall  not  be  far  wrong  in  in- 
ferring that  these  celebrated  personages  were 
seen  CKCZC  —  as  Pindar  says  he  "  saw  "  Archilo- 
chus,  who  died  ages  before  the  former  was  born. 

CHINESE  EXAMPLE 

I  cannot  help  thinking  that  romance-writers, 
in  general,  might,  now  and  then,  find  their  ac- 
count in  taking  a  hint  from  the  Chinese,  who,  in 
spite  of  building  their  houses  downwards,  have 
still  sense  enought  to  begin  their  books  at  the  end. 

A  RABBLE 

Samuel  Butler,  of  Hudibrastic  memory,  must 
have  had  a  prophetic  eye  to  the  American  Con- 
gress when  he  defined  a  rabble  as  —  "A  con- 
gregation or  assembly  of  the  States-General  — 
every  one  being  of  a  several  judgment  con- 
cerning whatever  business  be  under  considera- 
tion." .  .  .  "They  meet  only  to  quarrel,"  he 
adds,  "  and  then  return  home  full  of  satisfaction 
and  narrative.'9 


MARGINALIA 

.MONARCH  AND  KING 

I  have  now  before  me  a  book  in  which  the  most 
noticeable  thing  is  the  pertinacity  with  which 
"  Monarch "  and  "  King "  are  printed  with  a 
capital  M  and  a  capital  K.  The  author,  it  seems, 
has  been  lately  presented  at  Court.  He  will  em- 
ploy a  small  g  in  future,  I  presume,  whenever  he 
is  so  unlucky  as  to  have  to  speak  of  his  God. 

MORAL  COURAGE 

With  how  unaccountable  an  obstinacy  even 
our  best  writers  persist  in  talking  about  "  moral 
courage  "  —  as  if  there  could  be  any  courage  that 
was  not  moral.  The  adjective  is  improperly  ap- 
plied to  the  subject  instead  of  the  object.  The 
energy  which  overcomes  fear,  whether  fear  of  evil 
threatening  the  person  or  threatening  the  imper- 
sonal circumstances  amid  which  we  exist,  is,  of 
course,  simply  a  mental  energy — is,  of  course, 
simply  "  moral."  But,  in  speaking  of  "  moral 
courage "  we  imply  the  existence  of  physical. 
Quite  as  reasonable  an  expression  would  be  that 
of  "  bodily  thought,"  or  of  "  muscular  imagina- 
tion." 

FOOLS 

I  have  great  faith  in  fools :  —  self-confidence 
my  friends  will  call  it :  — 

"  Si  demain,  oubliant  d'eclore, 

Le  jour  manquait,  eh  bien !  demain 
394 


MARGINALIA 

Quelque  fou  trouverait  encore 

Un  flambeau  pour  le  genre  humain." 

By  the  way,  what  with  the  new  electric  light  and 
other  matters,  De  Beranger's  idea  is  not  so  very 
extravagant. 

MAN 

"  He  that  is  born  to  be  a  man,"  says  Wieland, 
in  his  "Peregrinus  Proteus,"  "neither  should 
nor  can  be  anything  nobler,  greater,  or  better 
than  a  man."  The  fact  is  that,  in  efforts  to  soar 
above  our  nature,  we  invariably  fall  below  it. 
Your  reformist  demigods  are  merely  devils 
turned  inside  out. 

CHANGE  IN  WOKDS 

Not  long  ago,  to  call  a  man  "  a  great  wizard," 
was  to  invoke  for  him  fire  and  fagot;  but  now, 
when  we  wish  to  run  our  protege  for  President, 
we  just  dub  him  "  a  little  magician."  The  fact 
is  that,  on  account  of  the  curious  modern  boule- 
versement  of  old  opinion,  one  cannot  be  too  cau- 
tious of  the  grounds  on  which  he  lauds  a  friend 
or  vituperates  a  foe. 

HEGEL'S  DEFINITION  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

"  Philosophy,"  says  Hegel,  "  is  utterly  useless 
and  fruitless,  and,  for  this  very  reason,  is  the 
sublimest  of  all  pursuits,  the  most  deserving  at- 
tention, and  the  most  worthy  of  our  zeal."    This 
395 


MARGINALIA 

jargon  was  suggested,  no  doubt,  by  Tertullian's 
"  Mortuus  est  Dei  filius;  credibile  est  quia  in- 
eptum:  et  sepultus  resurreccit;  cerium  est  quia 
impossibile?  " 

ANACREON 

A  clever  French  writer  of  "  Memoirs  "  is  quite 
right  in  saying  that  "  if  the  Universities  had  been 
willing  to  permit  it,  the  disgusting  old  debauche 
of  Teos,  with  his  eternal  Batyllis,  would  long 
ago  have  been  buried  in  the  darkness  of  oblivion." 

"  LIFE  is  A  DREAM  " 

It  is  by  no  means  an  irrational  fancy  that,  in 
a  future  existence,  we  shall  look  upon  what  we 
think  our  present  existence  as  a  dream. 

THE  DOG'S  NAME 

Tell  a  scoundrel,  three  or  four  times  a  day, 
that  he  is  the  pink  of  probity,  and  you  make  him 
at  least  the  perfection  of  "respectability"  in 
good  earnest.  On  the  other  hand,  accuse  an 
honorable  man,  too  pertinaciously,  of  being  a 
villain,  and  you  fill  him  with  a  perverse  ambition 
to  show  you  that  you  are  not  altogether  in  the 
wrong. 

STANDARD-WORSHIP 

The  Romans  worshipped  their  standards;  and 
the  Roman  standard  happened  to  be  an  Eagle. 
Our  standard  is  only  one-tenth  of  an  Eagle  — 
396 


MARGINALIA 

a  Dollar  —  but  we  make  all  even  by  adoring  it 
with  tenfold  devotion. 

AN  ILLUSTRATION 

This  reasoning  is  about  as  convincing  as  would 
be  that  of  a  traveller  who,  going  from  Maryland 
to  New  York  without  entering  Pennsylvania, 
should  advance  this  feat  as  an  argument  against 
Leibnitz*  Law  of  Continuity  —  according  to 
which  nothing  passes  from  one  state  to  another 
without  passing  through  all  the  intermediate 
states. 

CUBBAN 

How  overpowering  a  style  is  that  of  Curran! 
I  use  "  overpowering  "  in  the  sense  of  the  English 
exquisite.  I  can  imagine  nothing  more  distress- 
ing than  the  extent  of  his  eloquence. 

ABILITY 

It  is  the  curse  of  a  certain  order  of  mind,  that 
it  can  never  rest  satisfied  with  the  consciousness 
of  its  ability  to  do  a  thing.  Not  even  is  it  con- 
tent with  doing  it.  It  must  both  know  and  show 
how  it  was  done. 

THE  GENTLEMAN 

Not  so:  —  a  gentleman  with  a  pug  nose  is  a 
contradiction  in  terms:     "Who  can  live  idly 
and  without  manual  labor,  and  will  bear  the  port, 
397 


MARGINALIA 

charge,  and  countenance  of  a  gentleman,  he  alone 
should  be  called  master  and  be  taken  for  a  gen- 
tleman."— SIB  THOMAS  SMITH'S  Common- 
wealth of  England. 

THE  BOOK  OF  JONAH 

Here  is  something  at  which  I  find  it  impossible 
not  to  laugh;  and  yet  I  laugh  without  knowing 
why.  That  incongruity  is  the  principle  of  all 
non-convulsive  laughter  is  to  my  mind  as  clearly 
demonstrated  as  any  problem  in  the  "  Principia 
Mathematica ; "  but  here  I  cannot  trace  the  in- 
congruous. It  is  there,  I  know.  Still  I  do  not 
see  it.  In  the  mean  time  let  me  laugh. 

POPE 

"  So  violent  was  the  state  of  parties  in  England  that  I 
was  assured  by  several  that  the  Duke  of  Maryborough  was 
a  coward  and  Pope  a  fool."  —  VOLTAIRE. 

Both  propositions  have  since  been  very  seri- 
ously entertained,  quite  independently  of  all 
party-feeling.  That  Pope  was  a  fool,  indeed 
seems  to  be  an  established  point  at  present  with 
the  Crazy ites  —  what  else  shall  I  call  them? 

"  HOLOFERNES  " 

I  never  read  a  personally  abusive  paragraph 
in  the  newspapers,  without  calling  to  mind  the 
pertinent  query  propounded  by  Goldsmith  to 
Johnson:  —  "  My  dear  Doctor,  what  harm  does 
it  do  a  man  to  call  him  '  Holof  ernes  '?  " 
398 


MARGINALIA 

"  APPALACHIA  " 

It  is  a  thousand  pities  that  the  puny  witticisms 
of  a  few  professional  objectors  should  have 
power  to  prevent,  even  for  a  year,  the  adoption 
of  a  name  for  our  country.  At  present  we  have, 
clearly,  none.  There  should  be  no  hesitation 
about  "  Appalachia."  In  the  first  place,  it  is 
distinctive.  "  America  "  *  is  not,  and  can  never 
be  made  so.  We  may  legislate  as  much  as  we 
please,  and  assume  for  our  country  whatever 
name  we  think  right  —  but  to  us  it  will  be  no 
name,  to  any  purpose  for  which  a  name  is  needed, 
unless  we  can  take  it  away  from  the  regions  which 
employ  it  at  present.  South  America  is  "  Amer- 
ica," and  will  insist  upon  remaining  so.  In 
the  second  place,  "Appalachia"  is  indigenous, 
springing  from  one  of  the  most  magnificent 
and  distinctive  features  of  the  country  itself. 
Thirdly,  in  employing  this  word  we  do  honor  to 
the  Aborigines,  whom,  hitherto,  we  have  at  all 
points,  unmercifully  despoiled,  assassinated,  and 
dishonored.  Fourthly,  the  name  is  the  sug- 
gestion of,  perhaps,  the  most  deservedly  eminent 
among  all  the  pioneers  of  American  literature. 
It  is  but  just  that  Mr.  Irving  should  name  the 
land  for  which,  in  letters,  he  first  established  a 
name.  The  last,  and  by  far  the  most  truly  im- 

1  Mr.  Field,  in  a  meeting  of  the  New  York  Historical 
Society,  proposed  that  we  take  the  name  of  "  America,"  and 
bestow  "  Columbia  "  upon  the  continent. 
399 


MARGINALIA 

portant  consideration  of  all,  however,  is  the  music 
of  "  Appalachia"  itself;  nothing  could  be  more 
sonorous,  more  liquid,  or  of  fuller  volume,  while 
its  length  is  just  sufficient  for  dignity.  How  the 
guttural  "  Alleghania  "  could  ever  have  been  pre- 
ferred for  a  moment  is  difficult  to  conceive.  I 
yet  hope  to  find  "  Appalachia  "  assumed. 

LITERAEY  MORALITY 

It  is  not  proper  (to  use  a  gentle  word),  nor 
does  it  seem  courageous,  to  attack  our  foe  by 
name,  in  spirit  and  in  effect,  so  that  all  the  world 
shall  know  whom  we  mean,  while  we  say  to  our- 
selves, "  I  have  not  attacked  this  man  by  name, 
in  the  eye  and  according  to  the  letter  of  the  law  " 
—  yet  how  often  are  men,  who  call  themselves 
gentlemen,  guilty  of  this  meanness!  We  need 
reform  at  this  point  of  our  literary  morality; 
very  sorely  too,  at  another  —  the  system  of  anon- 
ymous reviewing.  Not  one  respectable  word 
can  be  said  in  defence  of  this  most  unfair  —  this 
most  despicable  and  cowardly  practice. 

THE  CKAB 

To  vilify  a  great  man  is  the  readiest  way  in 
which  a  little  man  can  himself  attain  greatness. 
The  Crab  might  never  have  become  a  Constella- 
tion but  for  the  courage  it  evinced  in  nibbling 
Hercules  on  the  heel. 

400 


MARGINALIA 

THE  "  BLUES  " 

Our  "  blues  "  are  increasing  in  number  at  a 
great  rate;  and  should  be  decimated,  at  the  very 
least.  Have  we  no  critic  with  nerve  enough  to 
hang  a  dozen  or  two  of  them,  in  terrorem?  He 
must  use  a  silk  cord,  of  course  —  as  they  do  in 
Spain,  with  all  grandees  of  the  blue  blood  —  of 
the  " sangre  azul" 

A  SINGULAR  ASSOCIATION 

No  doubt,  the  association  of  idea  is  somewhat 
singular  —  but  I  never  can  hear  a  crowd  of 
people  singing  and  gesticulating,  all  together,  at 
an  Italian  opera,  without  fancying  myself  at 
Athens,  listening  to  that  particular  tragedy  by 
Sophocles  in  which  he  introduces  a  full  chorus  of 
turkeys,  who  set  about  bewailing  the  death  of 
Meleager.  It  is  noticeable  in  this  connection,  by 
the  way,  that  there  is  not  a  goose  in  the  world 
who,  in  point  of  sagacity,  would  not  feel  itself 
insulted  in  being  compared  with  a  turkey.  The 
French  seem  to  feel  this.  In  Paris,  I  am  sure, 

no  one  would  think  of  saying  to  Mr.  F , 

"What  a  goose  you  are!"  —  "  Quel  dindon  tu 
es! "  would  be  the  phrase  employed  as  equiva- 
lent. 

A  SUGGESTION  FOR  CRITICS 

Alas!  how  many  American  critics  neglect  the 
happy  suggestion  of  M.  Timon  —  "  que  le  Min- 
401 


MARGINALIA 

istre  de  L 'Instruction  Publique  doit  lui-meme 
savoir  parler  francais." 

AMEKICAN  LETTERS 

It  is  folly  to  assert,  as  some  at  present  are 
fond  of  asserting,  that  the  literature  of  any  na- 
tion or  age  was  ever  injured  by  plain  speaking 
on  the  part  of  the  critics.  As  for  American  Let- 
ters, plain-speaking  about  them  is,  simply,  the 
one  thing  needed.  They  are  in  a  condition  of 
absolute  quagmire  —  a  quagmire,  to  use  the 
words  of  Victor  Hugo,  "  d'ou  on  ne  pent  se  tirer 
par  des  periphrases  —  par  des  quemadmodums 
et  des  verumenimveros." 

SILK  BUCKINGHAM 

"  What  does  a  man  learn  by  travelling? "  de- 
manded Doctor  Johnson,  one  day,  in  a  great  rage 
— "  What  did  Lord  Charlemont  learn  in  his 
travels,  except  that  there  was  a  snake  in  one  of 
the  pyramids  of  Egypt?"  —  but  had  Doctor 
Johnson  lived  in  the  days  of  the  Silk  Bucking- 
hams  he  would  have  seen  that,  so  far  from  think- 
ing anything  of  finding  a  snake  in  a  pyramid, 
your  traveller  would  take  his  oath,  at  a  moment's 
notice,  of  having  found  a  pyramid  in  a  snake. 

D D 

L is  busy  in  attempting  to  prove  that  his 

play   was  not   fairly   d d,   that   it   is   only 

402 


MARGINALIA 

"  scotched,  not  kiUed;  "  but  if  the  poor  play  could 
speak  from  the  tomb,  I  fancy  it  would  sing  with 
the  opera  heroine : 

"The   flattering   error   cease  to   prove! 
Oh,  let  me  be  deceased !  " 

A  LINGUISTIC  PARALLEL 

"  Advancing  briskly  with  a  rapier,  he  did  the 
business  for  him  at  a  blow."  —  SMOLLETT. 

This  vulgar  colloquialism  had  its  type  among 
the  Romans.  "  Et  ferro  subitus  grassator,  agit 
rem."  —  JUVENAL. 

"  HIGH-BINDERS  " 

As  to  this  last  term  "  high-binder,"  which  is  so 
confidently  quoted  as  modern  ("  not  in  use,  cer- 
tainly, before  1819  ")  I  can  refute  all  that  is  said 
by  referring  to  a  journal  in  my  own  possession 
—  the  "  Weekly  Inspector  "  for  Dec.  27, 1806  — 
published  in  New  York:  — 

"  On  Christmas  Eve,  a  party  of  banditti,  amounting, 
it  is  stated,  to  forty  or  fifty  members  of  an  association, 
calling  themselves  '  High-Binders,'  assembled  in  front  of 
St.  Peter's  Church,  in  Barclay  Street,  expecting  that 
the  Catholic  ritual  would  be  performed  with  a  degree  of 
pomp  and  splendor  which  has  usually  been  omitted  in 
this  city.  These  ceremonies,  however,  not  taking  place, 
the  '  High-Binders  '  manifested  great  displeasure." 

In  a  subsequent  number,  the  association  are 
called  "  Hide-Binders."    They  were  Irish. 
403 


MARGINALIA 

THE  DEARTH  OF  GENIUS  IN  AMERICA 

Perhaps  Mr.  Barrow  is  right  after  all,  and  the 
dearth  of  genius  in  America  is  owing  to  the  con- 
tinual teasing  of  the  mosquitoes. 

ASIDES 

When  I  call  to  mind  the  preposterous 
"  asides  "  and  soliloquies  of  the  drama  among 
civilized  nations,  the  shifts  employed  by  the 
Chinese  playwrights  appear  altogether  respect- 
able. If  a  general,  on  a  Pekin  or  Canton  stage, 
is  ordered  on  an  expedition,  "he  brandishes  a 
whip,"  says  Davis,  "  or  takes  in  his  hand  the  reins 
of  a  bridle,  and  striding  three  or  four  times 
around  a  platform,  in  the  midst  of  a  tremendous 
crash  of  gongs,  drums,  and  trumpets,  finally 
stops  short  and  tells  the  audience  where  he  has 
arrived."  It  would  sometimes  puzzle  an  Euro- 
pean stage  hero  in  no  little  degree  to  "  tell  an  au- 
dience where  he  has  arrived."  Most  of  them  seem 
to  have  a  very  imperfect  conception  of  their 
whereabouts.  In  the  Mart  de  Ccesar,  for  ex- 
ample, Voltaire  makes  his  populace  rush  to  and 
fro,  exclaiming,  "  Courons  au  Capitole! "  Poor 
fellows  —  they  are  in  the  capitol  all  the  time ;  — 
in  his  scruples  about  unity  of  place,  the  author 
has  never  once  let  them  out  of  it. 


404 


MARGINALIA 

A  CONUNDRUM 

Talking  of  conundrums :  —  Why  will  a  geolo- 
gist put  no  faith  in  the  fable  of  the  fox  that  lost 
his  tail?  Because  he  knows  that  no  animal  re- 
mains have  ever  been  found  in  trap. 

WIT'S  WORK 

Jack  Birkenhead,  apud  Bishop  Sprat,  says 
that  "  a  great  wit's  great  work  is  to  refuse."  The 
apothegm  must  be  swallowed  cum  grano  salis. 
His  greatest  work  is  to  originate  no  matter  that 
shall  require  refusal. 

SCOTCH  DIALECT 
In  the  sweet  "  Lily  of  Nithsdale,"  we  read  — 

"  She  's  gane  to  dwell  in  heaven,  my  lassie  — 

She  's  gane  to  dwell  in  heaven ;  — 
*  Ye  're  ow're  pure,'  quo'  the  voice  of  God, 
*  For  dwelling  out  o'  heaven.'  " 

The  "  ow're  "  and  the  "  o' "  of  the  two  last 
verses  should  be  Anglicized.  The  Deity  at  least 
should  be  supposed  to  speak  so  as  to  be  under- 
stood —  although  I  am  aware  that  a  folio  has 
been  written  to  demonstrate  broad  Scotch  as  the 
language  of  Adam  and  Eve  in  Paradise. 

E  PLURIBUS  UNUM 

The  United  States  motto,  E  plunbus  unum, 
may  possibly  have  a  sly  allusion  to  Pythagoras' 
405 


MARGINALIA 

definition  of  beauty  —  the  reduction  of  many  into 
one. 

NATIONAL,  LUNACY 

The  Bishop  of  Durham  (Dr.  Butler)  once 
asked  Dean  Tucker  whether  he  did  not  think  that 
communities  went  mad  en  masse,  now  and  then, 
just  as  individuals,  individually.  The  thing  need 
not  have  been  questioned.  Were  not  the  Abde- 
rians  seized,  all  at  once,  with  the  Euripides  lun- 
acy, during  which  they  ran  about  the  streets  de- 
claiming the  plays  of  the  poet?  And  now  here 
is  the  great  tweedle-dee  tweedle-dum  paroxysm 
—  the  uproar  about  Pusey.  If  England  and 
America  are  not  lunatic  now  —  at  this  very  mo- 
ment —  then  I  have  never  seen  such  a  thing  as  a 
March  hare. 

AN  AUTHOR'S  FACE 

In  a  railroad  car,  I  once  sat  face  to  face  with 
him  —  or,  rather,  npoocjnov  KOTO  npoounov,  as  the 
Septuagint  have  it;  for  he  had  a  tooth-ache, 
and  three-fourths  of  his  visage  were  buried  in  a 
red  handkerchief.  Of  what  remained  visible,  an 
eighth,  I  thought,  represented  his  "  Gayeties," 
and  an  eighth  his  "  Gravities."  The  only  author 
I  ever  met  who  looked  even  the  fourth  of  his 
own  book. 


406 


MARGINALIA 

APOTHEGMS 

But  for  the  shame  of  the  thing,  there  are  few 
of  the  so-called  apothegms  which  would  not 
avow  themselves  epigrams  outright.  They  have 
it  in  common  with  the  fencing-school  foils,  that 
we  can  make  no  real  use  of  any  part  of  them  but 
the  point,  while  this  we  can  never  get  fairly  at, 
on  account  of  a  little  flat  profundity-button. 

Music 

When  music  affects  us  to  tears,  seemingly 
causeless,  we  weep  not,  as  Gravina  supposes, 
from  "  excess  of  pleasure;  "  but  through  excess 
of  an  impatient,  petulant  sorrow  that,  as  mere 
mortals,  we  are  as  yet  in  no  condition  to  banquet 
upon  those  supernal  ecstasies  of  which  the  music 
affords  us  merely  a  suggestive  and  indefinite 
glimpse. 

THE  STATE  OF  NATUBE 

The  theorizers  on  Government,  who  pretend 
always  to  "  begin  with  the  beginning,"  commence 
with  Man  in  what  they  call  his  natural  state  — 
the  savage.  What  right  have  they  to  suppose 
this  his  natural  state?  Man's  chief  idiosyncrasy 
being  reason,  it  follows  that  his  savage  condition 
—  his  condition  of  action  without  reason  —  in  his 
^natural  state.  The  more  he  reasons,  the  nearer 
he  approaches  the  position  to  which  this  chief 
idiosyncrasy  irresistibly  impels  him;  and  not  un- 
407 


MARGINALIA 

til  he  attains  this  position  with  exactitude  —  not 
until  his  reason  has  exhausted  itself  for  his  im- 
provement —  not  until  he  has  stepped  upon  the 
highest  pinnacle  of  civilization  —  will  his  natural 
state  be  ultimately  reached,  or  thoroughly  de- 
termined. 

LITEKAEY  ANIMALCULE 

Our  literature  is  infested  with  a  swarm  of  just 
such  little  people  as  this  —  creatures  who  suc- 
ceed in  creating  for  themselves  an  absolutely 
positive  reputation,  by  mere  dint  of  the  continu- 
ity and  perpetuality  of  their  appeals  to  the  pub- 
lic —  which  is  permited,  not  for  a  single  instant, 
to  rid  itself  of  these  Epizoce,  or  to  get  their  pre- 
tensions out  of  sight. 

We  cannot,  then,  regard  the  microscopial 
works  of  the  animalculse  in  question,  as  simple 
nothings;  for  they  produce,  as  I  say,  a  positive 
effect,  and  no  multiplication  of  zeros  will  result 
in  unity  —  but  as  negative  quantities  —  as  less 
than  nothings;  since  —  into  —  will  give  +. 

HYPEEISM 

Nothing,  to  the  true  taste,  is  so  offensive  as 
mere  hyperism.  In  Germany  wohlgeborn  is  a 
loftier  title  than  edelgeborn;  and,  in  Greece,  the 
thrice-victorious  at  the  Olympic  games  could 
claim  a  statute  of  the  size  of  life,  while  he  who 
had  conquered  but  once  was  entitled  tinly  to  a 
colossal. 

408 


MARGINALIA 
CHOKLEY 

The  author  speaks  of  music  like  a  man,  and 
not  like  a  fiddler.  This  is  something  —  and  that 
he  has  imagination  is  more.  But  the  philosophy 
of  music  is  beyond  his  depth;  and  of  its  physics 
he,  unquestionably,  has  no  conception.  By  the 
way  —  of  all  the  so-called  scientific  musicians, 
how  many  may  we  suppose  cognizant  of  the 
acoustic  facts  and  mathematical  deductions?  To 
be  sure,  my  acquaintance  with  eminent  composers 
is  quite  limited  —  but  I  have  never  met  one  who 
did  not  stare  and  say  "yes,"  "no,"  "hum!" 
"  ha!  "  "  eh?  "  when  I  mentioned  the  mechanism 
of  the  Sirene,  or  made  allusion  to  the  oval  vibra- 
tions at  right  angles. 

EUPHEMISM 

In  general,  we  should  not  be  over-scrupulous 
about  niceties  or  phrase,  when  the  matter  in  hand 
is  a  dunce  to  be  gibbeted.  Speak  out!  —  or  the 
person  may  not  understand  you.  He  is  to  be 
hung?  Then  hang  him  by  all  means;  but  make 
no  bow  when  you  mean  no  obeisance,  and  eschew 
the  droll  delicacy  of  the  Clown  in  the  Play  — 
"  Be  so  good,  sir,  as  to  rise  and  be  put  to  death." 

This  is  the  only  true  principle  among  men. 

Where  the  gentler  sex  is  concerned,  there  seems 

but  one  course  for  the  critic  —  speak  if  you  can 

commend  —  be  silent,  if  not;  for  a  woman  will 

409 


MARGINALIA 

never  be  brought  to  admit  a  non-identity  between 
herself  and  her  book,  and  "  a  well-bred  man  " 
says,  justly,  that  excellent  old  English  moralist, 
James  Puckle,  in  his  "  Gray  Cap  for  a  Green 
Head,"  a  well-bred  man  will  never  give  himself 
the  liberty  to  speak  ill  of  women." 

PAINE'S  "  AGE  OF  REASON  " 

It  is  the  half -profound,  half-silly,  and  wholly 
irrational  composition  of  a  very  clever,  very  ig- 
norant, and  laughably  impudent  fellow  —  "iw- 
geniosus  puer,  sed  insignis  nebulo,"  as  the  Jesuits 
have  well  described  Crebillon. 

BIETH 

The  sense  of  high  birth  is  a  moral  force  whose 
value  the  democrats,  albeit  compact  of  mathe- 
matics, are  never  in  condition  to  calculate. 
"  Pour  savoir  ce  qu'est  Dieu"  says  the  Baron  de 
Bielfeld,  "  il  faut  etre  Dieu  meme." 

LEARNING 

I  have  seen  many  computations  respecting  the 
greatest  amount  of  erudition  attainable  by  an  in- 
dividual in  his  lifetime;  but  these  computations 
are  falsely  based,  and  fall  infinitely  beneath  the 
truth.  It  is  true  that,  in  general,  we  retain,  we 
remember  to  available  purpose,  scarcely  one- 
hundreth  part  of  what  we  read;  yet  there  are 
410 


MARGINALIA 

minds  which  not  only  retain  all  receipts,  but 
keep  them  at  compound  interest  forever.  Again : 
—  were  every  man  supposed  to  read  out,  he  could 
read,  of  course,  very  little,  even  in  half  a  cen- 
tury; for,  in  such  case  each  individual  word  must 
be  dwelt  upon  in  some  degree.  But,  in  reading 
to  ourselves,  at  the  ordinary  rate  of  what  is  called 
"  light  reading,"  we  scarcely  touch  one  word  in 
ten.  And,  even  physically  considered,  knowl- 
edge breeds  knowledge,  as  gold  gold;  for  he  who 
reads  really  much,  finds  his  capacity  to  read  in- 
crease in  geometrical  ratio.  The  helluo  liborum 
will  but  glance  at  the  page  which  detains  the 
ordinary  reader  some  minutes ;  and  the  difference 
in  the  absolute  reading  (its  uses  considered), 
will  be  in  favor  of  the  helluo,  who  will  have  win- 
nowed the  matter  of  which  the  tyro  mumbled 
both  the  seeds  and  the  chaff.  A  deep-rooted  and 
strictly  continuous  habit  of  reading  will,  with  cer- 
tain classes  of  intellect,  result  in  an  instinctive 
and  seemingly  magnetic  appreciation  of  a  thing 
written;  and  now  the  student  reads  by  pages  just 
as  other  men  by  words.  Long  years  to  come, 
with  a  careful  analysis  of  the  mental  process, 
may  even  render  this  species  of  appreciation  a 
common  thing.  It  may  be  taught  in  the  schools 
of  our  descendants  of  the  tenth  or  twentieth  gen- 
eration. It  may  become  the  method  of  the  mob  of 
the  eleventh  or  twenty-first.  And  should  these 
matters  come  to  pass  —  as  they  will  —  there  will 
411 


MARGINALIA 

be  in  them  no  more  legitimate  cause  for  wonder 
than  there  is,  to-day,  in  the  marvel  that,  syllable 
by  syllable,  men  comprehend  what,  letter  by  let- 
ter, I  now  trace  upon  this  page. 

Is  it  not  a  law  that  need  has  a  tendency  to  en- 
gender the  thing  needed? 

GIBBON 

"  The  nature  of  the  soil  may  indicate  the  countries 
most  exposed  to  these  formidable  concussions,  since  they 
are  caused  by  subterraneous  fires,  and  such  fires  are 
kindled  by  the  union  and  fermentation  of  iron  and  sul- 
phur. But  their  times  and  effects  appear  to  lie  beyond 
the  reach  of  human  curiosity,  and  the  philosopher  will 
discreetly  abstain  from  the  prediction  of  earthquakes, 
till  he  has  counted  the  drops  of  water  that  silently  fil- 
trate on  the  inflammable  mineral,  and  measured  the 
caverns  which  increase  by  resistance  the  explosion  of 
the  imprisoned  air.  Without  assigning  the  cause,  his- 
tory will  distinguish  the  period  in  which  these  calam- 
itous events  have  been  rare  or  frequent,  and  will  observe, 
that  this  fever  of  the  earth  raged  with  uncommon 
violence  during  the  reign  of  Justinian.  Each  year  is 
marked  by  the  repetition  of  earthquakes,  of  such 
duration  that  Constantinople  has  been  shaken  above 
forty  days :  of  such  extent  that  the  shock  has  been  com- 
municated to  the  whole  surface  of  the  globe,  or  at  least 
of  the  Roman  Empire." 

These  sentences  may  be  regarded  as  a  full 
synopsis  of  the  style  of  Gibbon  —  a  style  which 
has  been  more  frequently  commended  than  al- 
most any  other  in  the  world. 


MARGINALIA 

He  had  three  hobbies  which  he  rode  to  the 
death  (stuffed  puppets  as  they  were),  and  which 
he  kept  in  condition  by  the  continual  sacrifice  of 
all  that  is  valuable  in  language.  These  hobbies 
were  Dignity  —  Modulation  —  Laconism. 

Dignity  is  all  very  well;  and  history  demands 
it  for  its  general  tone ;  but  the  being  everlastingly 
on  stilts  is  not  only  troublesome  and  awkward, 
but  dangerous.  He  who  falls  en  homme  ordinaire 
—  from  the  mere  slipping  of  his  feet  — is  usually 
an  object  of  sympathy;  but  all  men  tumble  now 
and  then,  and  this  tumbling  from  high  sticks  is 
sure  to  provoke  laughter. 

His  modulation,  however,  is  always  ridiculous ; 
for  it  is  so  uniform,  so  continuous,  and  so  jauntily 
kept  up,  that  we  almost  fancy  the  writer  waltzing 
to  his  words. 

With  him,  to  speak  lucidly  was  a  far  less  merit 
than  to  speak  smoothly  and  curtly.  There  is  a 
way  in  which,  through  the  nature  of  language  it- 
self, we  may  often  save  a  few  words  by  talking 
backwards;  and  this  is,  therefore,  a  favorite 
practice  with  Gibbon.  Observe  the  sentence 
commencing  —  "  The  nature  of  the  soil."  The 
thought  expressed  could  scarcely  be  more  con- 
densed in  expression;  but,  for  the  sake  of  this 
condensation,  he  renders  the  idea  difficult  of  com- 
prehension, by  subverting  the  natural  order  of  a 
simple  proposition  and  placing  a  deduction  before 
that  from  which  it  is  deduced.  An  ordinary  man 
413 


MARGINALIA 

would  have  thus  written:  "  As  these  formidable 
concussions  arise  from  subterranean  fires  kindled 
by  the  union  and  fermentation  of  iron  and  sul- 
phur, we  may  judge  of  the  degree  in  which  any 
region  is  exposed  to  earthquake  by  the  presence 
or  absence  of  these  minerals."  My  sentence  has 
forty  words  —  that  of  Gibbon  thirty-six ;  but  the 
first  cannot  fail  of  being  instantly  comprehended, 
while  the  latter  it  may  be  necessary  to  re-read. 

The  mere  terseness  of  this  historian  is,  how- 
ever, grossly  over-rated.  In  general,  he  conveys 
an  idea  (although  darkly)  in  fewer  words  than 
others  of  his  time;  but  a  habit  of  straight  think- 
ing that  rejects  non-essentials,  will  enable  any 
one  to  say,  for  example,  what  was  intended  above, 
both  more  briefly  and  more  distinctly.  He  must 
abandon,  of  course,  "  formidable  concussions  " 
and  things  of  that  kind. 

E.  g.  —  "  The  sulphur  and  iron  of  any  region 
express  its  liability  to  earthquake ;  their  fermenta- 
tion being  its  cause." 

Here  are  seventeen  words  in  place  of  the 
thirty-six;  and  these  seventeen  convey  the  full 
force  of  all  that  it  was  necessary  to  say.  Such 
concision  is,  nevertheless,  an  error,  and,  so  far  as 
respects  the  true  object  of  concision,  is  a  bull. 
The  most  truly  concise  style  is  that  which  most 
rapidly  transmits  the  sense.  What,  then,  should 
be  said  of  the  concision  of  Carlyle?  —  that  those 
are  mad  who  admire  a  brevity  which  squanders 
414 


MARGINALIA 

our  time  for  the  purpose  of  economizing  our 
printing-ink  and  paper. 

Observe,  now,  the  passage  above  quoted,  com- 
mencing —  "  Each  year  is  marked."  What  is  it 
the  historian  wishes  to  say?  Not,  certainly,  that 
every  year  was  marked  by  earthquakes  that  shook 
Constantinople  forty  days,  and  extended  to  all 
regions  of  the  earth!  —  yet  this  only  is  the 
legitimate  interpretation.  The  earthquakes  are 
said  to  be  "of  such  duration  that  Constanti- 
nople," etc.,  and  these  earthquakes  (of  such  dura- 
tion) were  experienced  every  year.  But  this  is  a 
pure  Gibbonism —  an  original  one;  no  man  ever 
so  rodomontaded  before.  He  means  to  say 
merely  that  the  earthquakes  were  of  unusual 
duration  and  extent  —  the  duration  of  one  be- 
ing so  long  that  Constantinople  shook  for  forty 
days,  and  the  extent  of  another  being  so  wide 
as  to  include  the  whole  empire  of  Rome  —  "by 
which,"  he  adds  sotto  voce —  "  by  which  insulated 
facts  the  reader  may  estimate  that  average  dura- 
tion and  extent  of  which  I  speak"  —  a  thing  the 
reader  will  find  it  difficult  to  do. 

A  few  years  hence  —  and  should  any  one  com- 
pose a  mock  heroic  in  the  manner  of  the  "  Decline 
and  Fall,"  the  poem  will  be  torn  to  pieces  by  the 
critics,  instanter,  as  an  unwarrantable  exaggera- 
tion of  the  principles  of  the  burlesque. 


415 


MARGINALIA 
VERACITY 

It  is  a  deeply  consequential  error  this:  —  the 
assumption  that  we,  being  men,  will  in  general, 
be  deliberately  true.  The  greater  amount  of 
truth  is  impulsively  uttered;  thus  the  greater 
amount  is  spoken,  not  written.  But,  in  examin- 
ing the  historic  material,  we  leave  these  considera- 
tions out  of  sight.  We  dote  upon  records,  which, 
in  the  main,  lie;  while  we  discard  the  Kabbala, 
which,  properly  interpreted,  do  not . 

LIGHT  AND  SOUND 

"  The  right  angle  of  light's  incidence  produces  a  sound 
upon  one  of  the  Egyptian  pyramids." 

This  assertion,  thus  expressed,  I  have  encoun- 
tered somewhere  —  probably  in  one  of  the  Notes 
to  Apollonius.  It  is  nonsense,  I  suppose,  —  but 
it  will  not  do  to  speak  hastily. 

The  orange  ray  of  the  spectrum  and  the  buzz 
of  the  gnat  (which  never  rises  above  the  second 
A) ,  affect  me  with  nearly  similar  sensations.  In 
hearing  the  gnat,  I  perceive  the  color.  In  per- 
ceiving the  color,  I  seem  to  hear  the  gnat. 

Here  the  vibrations  of  the  tympanum  caused 
by  the  wings  of  the  fly,  may,  from  within,  induce 
abnormal  vibrations  of  the  retina,  similar  to  those 
which  the  orange  ray  induces,  normally,  from 
without.  By  similar,  I  do  not  mean  of  equal 
rapidity  —  this  would  be  folly;  —  but  each  mil- 
416 


MARGINALIA 

lionth  undulation,  for  example,  of  the  retina, 
might  accord  with  one  of  the  tympanum;  and  I 
doubt  whether  this  would  not  be  sufficient  for  the 
effect. 

How  TO  BEGIN 

How  many  good  books  suffer  neglect  through 
the  inefficiency  of  their  beginnings !  It  is  far  bet- 
ter that  we  commence  irregularly  —  unmethodi- 
cally —  than  that  we  fail  to  arrest  attention;  but 
the  two  points,  method  and  pungency,  may  al- 
ways be  combined.  At  all  risks,  let  there  be  a 
few  vivid  sentences  imprimis,  by  way  of  the 
electric  bell  to  the  telegraph. 

CHIROGRAPHY 

I  am  far  more  than  half  serious  in  all  that  I 
have  ever  said  about  manuscript,  as  affording 
indication  of  character. 

The  general  proposition  is  unquestionable  — 
that  the  mental  qualities  will  have  a  tendency  to 
impress  the  manuscript.  The  difficulty  lies  in  the 
comparison  of  this  tendency,  as  a  mathematical 
force,  with  the  forces  of  the  various  disturbing 
influences  of  mere  circumstance.  But  —  given 
a  man's  purely  physical  biography,  with  his 
manuscript,  and  the  moral  biography  may  be  de- 
duced. 

The  actual  practical  extent  to  which  these 
ideas  are  applicable,  is  not  sufficiently  understood. 
417 


MARGINALIA 

For  my  own  part,  I  by  no  means  shrink  from 
acknowledging  that  I  act,  hourly,  upon  estimates 
of  character  derived  from  chirography.  The 
estimates,  however,  upon  which  I  depend,  are 
chiefly  negative.  For  example;  a  man  may  not 
always  be  a  man  of  genius,  or  a  man  of  taste,  or 
a  man  of  firmness,  or  a  man  of  any  other  quality, 
because  he  writes  this  hand  or  that;  but  then 
there  are  manuscripts  which  no  man  of  firmness, 
or  of  taste,  or  of  genius,  ever  did,  will,  or  can 
write. 

There  is  a  certain  species  of  hand- writing, — 
and  a  quite  "  elegant "  one  it  is,  too;  although  I 
hesitate  to  describe  it,  because  it  is  written  by 
some  two  or  three  thousand  of  my  personal 
friends,  —  a  species  of  hand- writing,  I  say,  which 
seems  to  appertain,  as  if  by  prescriptive  right,  to 
the  blockhead,  and  which  has  been  employed  by 
every  donkey  since  the  days  of  Cadmus,  —  has 
been  penned  by  every  gander  since  first  a  gray 
goose  yielded  a  pen. 

Now,  were  any  one  to  write  me  a  letter  in  this 
manuscript,  requiring  me  to  involve  myself  with 
its  inditer  in  any  enterprise  of  moment  and  of 
risk,  it  would  be  only  on  the  score  of  the  com- 
monest civility  that  I  would  condescend  to  send 
him  a  reply. 

THE  APPARENT  SIZE  OF  THE  SUN 

Dr.  Lardner  thus  explains  the  apparent  dif- 
418 


MARGINALIA 

ference   in   size  between   the   setting   and  the 
noonday  sun:  — 

"  Various  solutions  have  been  proposed,  and  the  one 
generally  adopted  by  scientific  minds  I  will  now  en- 
deavor to  make  plain,  though  I  fear  its  nature  is  so 
remarkable  that  I  am  not  sure  I  shall  make  it  intelligi- 
ble. But  here  it  is.  If  the  sun,  or  another  celestial  ob- 
ject, be  near  the  horizon,  and  I  direct  my  attention  to  it, 
I  see  between  me  and  that  object  a  vast  number  of  ob- 
jects upon  the  face  of  the  earth,  as  trees,  houses,  moun- 
tains, the  magnitudes  and  positions  of  which  are  fa- 
miliar to  me.  These  supply  the  mind  with  a  means  of 
estimating  the  size  of  the  object  at  which  I  am  looking. 
I  know  that  it  is  much  farther  off  than  these ;  and  yet 
the  sun  appears,  perhaps,  much  larger  than  the  top  of 
the  intervening  mountain.  I  thus  compare  the  sun,  by 
a  process  of  the  mind  so  subtle  and  instinctive  that  I  am 
unconscious  of  it,  with  the  objects  which  I  see  between  it 
and  myself,  and  I  conclude  that  it  is  much  larger  than 
those.  Well,  the  same  sun  rises  to  the  meridian;  then 
there  are  no  intervening  objects  whereby  to  space  off  the 
distance,  as  it  were,  and  thus  form  a  comparative  es- 
timate of  its  size.  ...  I  am  prepared  to  be  met  by  the 
objection,  that  this  is  an  extremely  learned  and  meta- 
physwal  reason.  So  it  is." 

How  funny  are  the  ideas  which  some  persons 
entertain  about  learning,  and  especially  about 
metaphysics ! 

Whatever  may  be  the  faible  of  Dr.  Lardner's 

intellect,  its  forte  is  certainly  not  originality; 

and  however  ill  put  are  his  explanations  of  the 

phenomenon  in  question,  he  is  to  be  blamed  for 

419 


MARGINALIA 

them  only  inasmuch  as  he  adopted  them,  without 
examination,  from  others.  The  same  thing  is 
said,  very  nearly  in  the  same  way,  by  all  who  have 
previously  touched  the  subject.  And  the  reason- 
ing is  not  only  of  very  partial  force,  but  wretch- 
edly urged.  If  the  sun  appears  larger  than  usual 
merely  because  we  compare  its  size  with  moun- 
tains and  other  large  objects  upon  the  earth 
(objects,  the  Doctor  might  have  said,  beyond  all 
which  we  see  the  sun),  how  happens  it  that  the 
illusion  does  not  cease  when  we  see  the  orb  setting 
where  no  such  objects  are  visible?  for  example, 
on  the  horizon  of  a  smooth  sea. 

We  appreciate  time  by  events  alone.  For  this 
reason  we  define  time  (somewhat  improperly)  as 
the  succession  of  events ;  but  the  fact  itself  —  that 
events  are  our  sole  means  of  appreciating  time  — 
tends  to  the  engendering  of  the  erroneous  idea 
that  events  are  time  —  that  the  more  numerous 
the  events,  the  longer  the  time ;  and  the  converse. 
This  erroneous  idea  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
we  should  absolutely  entertain  in  all  cases,  but 
for  our  practical  means  of  correcting  the  impres- 
sion —  such  as  clocks,  and  the  movements  of  the 
heavenly  bodies  —  whose  revolutions,  after  all, 
we  only  assume  to  be  regular. 

Space  is  precisely  analogous  with  time.     By 

objects  alone  we  estimate  space;  and  we  might  as 

rationally  define  it  "  the  succession  of  objects,"  as 

time  "  the  succession  of  events."    But,  as  before. 

420 


MARGINALIA 

—  The  fact  that  we  have  no  other  means  of 
estimating  space  than  objects  afford  us  tends  to 
the  false  idea  that  objects  are  space  —  that  the 
more  numerous  the  objects  the  greater  the  space; 
and  the  converse;  and  this  erroneous  impression 
we  should  receive  in  all  cases,  but  for  our  practical 
means  of  correcting  it  —  such  as  yard  measures, 
and  other  conventional  measures,  which  resolve 
themselves,  ultimately,  into  certain  natural  stand- 
ards, such  as  barley-corns,  which,  after  all,  we 
only  assume  to  be  regular. 

The  mind  can  form  some  conception  of  the  dis- 
tance (however  vast)  between  the  sun  and 
Uranus,  because  there  are  ten  objects  which 
(mentally)  intervene  —  the  planets  Mercury, 
Venus,  Earth,  Mars,  Ceres,  Vesta,  Juno,  Pallas, 
Jupiter,  and  Saturn.  These  objects  serve  as 
stepping-stones  to  the  mind;  which,  nevertheless, 
is  utterly  lost  in  the  attempt  at  establishing  a 
notion  of  the  interval  between  Uranus  and  Sirius; 
lost  —  yet,  clearly,  not  on  account  of  the  mere 
distance  (for  why  should  we  not  conceive  the 
abstract  idea  of  the  distance,  two  miles,  as  readily 
as  that  of  the  distance,  one?)  but,  simply,  because 
between  Uranus  and  Sirius  we  happen  to  know 
that  all  is  void.  And,  from  what  I  have  already 
said,  it  follows  that  this  vacuity  —  this  want  of 
intervening  points  —  will  cause  to  fall  short  of 
the  truth  any  notion  we  shall  endeavor  to 
form.  In  fact,  having  once  passed  the  limits  of 


MARGINALIA 

absolutely  practical  admeasurement,  by  means  of 
intervening  objects,  our  ideas  of  distances  are 
one;  they  have  no  variation.  Thus,  in  truth,  we 
think  of  the  interval  between  Uranus  and  Sirius 
precisely  as  of  that  between  Saturn  and  Uranus, 
or  of  that  between  any  one  planet  and  its  im- 
mediate neighbor.  We  fancy,  indeed,,  that  we 
form  different  conceptions  of  the  different  inter- 
vals ;  but  we  mistake  the  mathematical  knowledge 
of  the  fact  of  the  interval,  for  an  idea  of  the  in- 
terval itself. 

It  is  the  principle  for  which  I  contend  that  in- 
stinctively leads  the  artist,  in  painting  what  he 
technically  calls  distances,  to  introduce  a  succes- 
sion of  objects  between  the  "  distance  "  and  the 
foreground.  Here  it  will  be  said  that  the  inten- 
tion is  the  perspective  comparison  of  the  size  of 
the  objects.  Several  men,  for  example,  are 
painted,  one  beyond  the  other,  and  it  is  the 
diminution  of  apparent  size  by  which  the  idea  of 
distance  is  conveyed ;  —  this,  I  say,  will  be  as- 
serted. But  here  is  mere  confusion  of  the  two 
notions  of  abstract  and  comparative  distance. 
By  this  process  of  diminishing  figures,  we  are,  it 
is  true,  made  to  feel  that  one  is  at  a  greater  dis- 
tance than  the  other;  but  the  idea  we  thence  glean 
of  abstract  distance;  is  gleaned  altogether  from 
the  mere  succession  of  the  figures,  independently 
of  magnitude.  To  prove  this,  let  the  men  be 
painted  out,  and  rocks  put  in  their  stead.  A  rock 


MARGINALIA 

may  be  of  any  size.  The  farthest  may  be,  for  all 
we  know,  really,  and  not  merely  optically,  the 
least.  The  effect  of  absolute  distance  will  remain 
untouched,  and  the  sole  result  will  be  confusion  of 
idea  respecting  the  comparative  distances  from 
rock  to  rock.  But  the  thing  is  clear :  if  the  artist's 
intention  is  really,  as  supposed,  to  convey  the 
notion  of  great  distance  by  perspective  compari- 
son of  the  size  of  men  at  different  intervals,  we 
must,  at  least,  grant  that  he  puts  himself  to  un- 
necessary trouble  in  the  multiplication  of  his  men. 
Two  would  answer  all  the  purposes  of  two  thou- 
sand ;  —  one  in  the  foreground  as  a  standard,  and 
one  in  the  background,  of  a  size  corresponding 
with  the  artist's  conception  of  the  distance. 

In  looking  at  the  setting  sun  in  a  mountainous 
region,  or  with  a  city  between  the  eye  and  the 
orb,  we  see  it  of  a  certain  seeming  magnitude, 
and  we  do  not  perceive  that  this  seeming  magni- 
tude varies  when  we  look  at  the  same  sun  setting 
on  the  horizon  of  the  ocean.  In  either  case  we 
have  a  chain  of  objects  by  which  to  appreciate  a 
certain  distance;  —  in  the  former  case  this  chain 
is  formed  of  mountains  and  towers  —  in  the  lat- 
ter, of  ripples,  or  specks  of  foam;  but  the  result 
does  not  present  any  difference.  In  each  case 
we  get  the  same  idea  of  the  distance,  and  con- 
sequently of  the  size.  This  size  we  have  in  our 
mind  when  we  look  at  the  sun  in  his  meridian 
place;  but  this  distance  we  have  not  —  for  no 
423 


MARGINALIA 

objects  intervene.  That  is  to  say,  the  distance 
falls  short,  while  the  size  remains.  The  con- 
sequence is,  that,  to  accord  with  the  diminished 
distance,  the  mind  instantaneously  diminishes  the 
size.  The  conversed  experiment  gives,  of  course, 
a  conversed  result. 

Dr.  Lardner's  "  so  it  is  "  is  amusing,  to  say  no 
more.  In  general,  the  mere  natural  philosophers 
have  the  same  exaggerated  notions  of  the  per- 
plexity of  metaphysics.  And,  perhaps,  it  is  this 
looming  of  the  latter  science  which  has  brought 
about  the  vulgar  derivation  of  its  name  from  the 
supposed  superiority  to  physics  —  as  if  M^TGC 
OvoiKa  had  the  force  of  super  physicam.  The 
fact  is,  that  Aristotle's  "  Treatise  on  Morals  " 
is  next  in  succession  to  his  book  on  "  Physics," 
and  this  he  supposes  the  rational  order  of  study. 
His  "  Ethics,"  therefore,  commence  with  the 
words  Merot  ra  OvoiKa  —  whence  we  take  the  word, 
Metaphysics. 

That  Leibnitz,  who  was  fond  of  interweaving 
even  his  mathematical  with  ethical  speculations, 
making  a  medley  rather  to  be  wondered  at  than 
understood  —  that  lie  made  no  attempt  at  amend- 
ing the  common  explanation  of  the  difference  in 
the  sun's  apparent  size  —  this,  perhaps,  is  more 
really  a  matter  for  marvel  than  that  Dr.  Lardner 
should  look  upon  the  common  explanation  as  only 
too  "  learned  "  and  too  "  metaphysical "  for  an 
audience  in  Yankee-Land. 
424 


MARGINALIA 

TRUTH  AND  FICTION 

That  "truth  is  stranger  than  fiction"  is  an 
adage  forever  in  the  mouth  of  the  uninformed, 
who  quote  it  as  they  would  quote  any  other 
proposition  which  to  them  seemed  paradoxical  — 
for  the  mere  point  of  the  paradox.  People  who 
read  never  quote  the  saying,  because  sheer 
truisms  are  never  worth  quoting.  A  friend  of 
mine  once  read  me  a  long  poem  on  the  planet 
Saturn.  He  was  a  man  of  genius,  but  his  lines 
were  a  failure  of  course,  since  the  realities  of  the 
planet,  detailed  in  the  most  prosaic  language,  put 
to  shame  and  quite  overwhelm  all  the  accessory 
fancies  of  the  poet. 

If,  however,  the  solemn  adage  in  question 
should  ever  stand  in  need  of  support,  here  is  a 
book  will  support  it.1 

"  THE  BRIDE  OF  FORT  EDWARD  " 

Some  richly  imaginative  thoughts,  skilfully  ex- 
pressed, might  be  culled  from  this  poem,  which,  as 
a  whole,  is  nothing  worth.  E.  g.  — 

"  And  I  can  hear  the  click  of  that  old  gate, 
As  once  again,  amid  the  chirping  yard, 
I  see  the  summer  rooms  open  and  dark." 

1  "  Ramaseand ;  or  a  Vocabulary  of  the  peculiar  lan- 
guage used  by  the  Thugs,  with  an  Introduction  and  Appen- 
dix descriptive  of  the  System  pursued  by  that  Fraternity, 
and  of  the  Measures  adopted  by  the  Supreme  Government 
of  India  for  its  Suppression."  —  Calcutta,  1836. 
425 


MARGINALIA 

and  — 

"  —  How  calm  the  night  moves  on !  and  yet, 
In  the  dark  morrow  that  behind  those  hills 
Lies   sleeping   now,   who    knows   what    horror 
lurks?" 

REALISM 

The  defenders  of  this  pitiable  stuff  uphold  it 
on  the  ground  of  its  truthfulness.  Taking  the 
thesis  into  question,  this  truthfulness  is  the  one 
overwhelming  defect.  An  original  idea  that  — 
to  laud  the  accuracy  with  which  the  stone  is 
hurled  that  knocks  us  in  the  head.  A  little  less 
accuracy  might  have  left  us  more  brains.  And 
here  are  critics  absolutely  commending  the  truth- 
fulness with  which  only  the  disagreeable  is  con- 
veyed! In  my  view,  if  an  artist  must  paint 
decayed  cheeses,  his  merit  will  lie  in  their  looking 
as  little  like  decayed  cheeses  as  possible. 


426 


NOTES 


NOTES 

ON  NOVELS,  ESSAYS,  AND  TRAVELS 

SNOOPER'S   "Wyandotte."      Published   in   "Gra- 
vy    ham's  Magazine,"  November,  1843. 

Hawthorne's  "Tales."  I.  Published  in  "  Godey's 
Lady's  Book,"  November,  1847.  II.  Published  in 
"  Graham's  Magazine,"  May,  1842.  III.  Published  in 
"  Godey's  Lady's  Book,"  November,  1847. 
\x  Dicken's  "  Barndby  Rudge"  Published  in  Graham's 
Magazine,"  February,  1842.  The  earlier  prospective 
review  of  this  novel,  referred  to  in  the  text,  was  pub- 
lished in  the  Philadelphia  "  Saturday  Evening  Post," 
May  1,  1841. 

^     Lever's  "Charles   O'Malley."     Published  in  "Gra- 
ham's Magazine,"  March,  1842. 
v^  Marryatt's    "  Joseph    Rushbrook."      Published    in 

"  Graham's  Magazine,"  September,  1841. 
\  Bird's  "  The  Hawks  of  Hawk-Hollow  "  and  "  Shep- 
para  Lee."  I.  Published  in  the  "  Southern  Literary 
Messenger,"  December,  1835 ;  II.  The  same,  September, 
1836.  The  papers  were  much  longer  in  the  magazine, 
owing  to  the  fact  that  the  story  of  each  novel  was 
narrated  in  detail. 

Simms's  "  The  Wigwam  and  the  Cabin."     Published 
in  "  Godey's  Lady's  Book,"  January,  1846. 
•J    Henry  Cockton's  "Stanley  Thorn."     Published  in 
"  Graham's  Magazine,"  January,  1842. 
%  "Peter    Snook."       Published    in    the    "Broadway 
Journal,"  i,  23.    This  paper,  except  the  opening  para- 
429 


NOTES 

graphs,  pp.  126-128,  was  originally  published  in  the 
"  Southern  Literary  Messenger,"  October,  1836. 

Walsh's  "  Didactics."  Published  in  the  "  Southern 
Literary  Messenger,"  May,  1836. 

v    Macaulay's    "  Essays"      Published    in    "  Graham's 
Magazine,"  June,  1841. 

Edwin  Percy  Whipple  and  other  Critics.  Published 
in  "  Graham's  Magazine,"  January,  1850. 

Headley's  "  The  Sacred  Mountains"  Published  in 
tjje  "  Southern  Literary  Messenger,"  October,  1850. 

Stephens' 8  "  Arabia  Petrcea."  Published  in  the  "  New 
York  Review,"  October,  1837.  The  paper  is  made  up, 
in  the  main,  of  paraphrase  of  the  work  under  review 
and  of  Keith  on  the  Prophecies,  of  the  sort  illustrated 
in  the  NOTES,  Vol.  V.  The  passage  of  Hebrew  criticism 
pp.  195-197,  was  furnished  by  Dr.  Anthon,  and  is 
printed  verbatim  from  a  letter  of  Anthon  to  Poe  in  the 
Griswold  papers,  still  unpublished.  Poe  used  it  re- 
peatedly. 

Irving9 s  "  Astoria."  Published  in  the  "  Southern 
Literary  Messenger,"  January,  1837.  The  paper  is 
largely  paraphrased  from  the  work  under  review. 

MARGINALIA 

The  fragments,  excerpts,  and  annotations,  gathered 
by  Poe  under  this  or  similar  titles,  were  published  in  the 
"American  Museum,"  Jan.,  Feb.,  1839;  "Democratic 
Review,"  Nov.,  Dec.,  1844,  April,  1846;  "Godey's 
Lady's  Book,"  Aug.,  Sept.,  1845;  "Graham's  Maga- 
zine," March,  Nov.,  Dec.,  1846,  Jan.-March,  1848; 
"  Southern  Literary  Messenger,"  April,  1846 ;  April- 
July,  1849.  In  several  instances  the  paragraphs  were 
republications,  sometimes  revised,  of  matter  previously 
used  in  early  reviews.  To  these  Griswold  added,  under 
430 


NOTES 

the  same  title,  short  reviews  and  fragments  of  reviews 
selected  by  himself,  apparently,  from  Poe's  minor  writ- 
ings in  the  magazines  with  which  he  had  been  editorially 
connected.  The  passages  thus  gathered,  and  their 
sources,  are  as  follows :  — 

Brougham,  Gr.  March,  1842. 

Plagiarism,  "  Hymn  for  Christmas,"  B.  G.  M.  Dec.  1839. 

Antigone,  Gr.  Dec.  1840. 

Southey's  "  Doctor,"  S.  L.  M.  July,  1836. 

Simms's  "  Damsel  of  Darien,"  B.  G.  M.  Nov.  1839. 

Bulwer,  "  We  have  long  learned,"  S.  L.  M.  Feb.  1836. 

Dickens,  Gr.  May,  1841. 

James,  S.  L.  M.  Oct.  1836. 

Hood,  B.  J.  ii,  5. 

Wilson,  B.  J.  ii,  9. 

Marvell,  S.  L.  M.  Aug.  1836. 

Petrarch,  Gr.  Sept.  1841. 

Paulding's  "  Washington,"  S.  L.  M.  May,  1836. 

Newnham's  "  Human  Magnetism,"  B.  J.  i.  13  (revised). 

Defoe,  S.  L.  M.  Jan.  1836. 

Antique  Poetry,  S.  L.  M.  Aug.  1836. 

Analogies,  Gr.  May,  1841. 

Malibran,  B.  G.  M.  June,  1840. 

Byron,  C.  M.  Dec.  1844. 

The  Editors  have  omitted  from  the  "Marginalia," 
first,  all  passages  printed  elsewhere  in  the  critical  writ- 
ings; secondly,  all  passages  from  "  Pinakidia "  (see 
NOTE  II.  Vol.  IV.)  ;  thirdly,  remarks  on  obscure  authors 
and  books,  and  other  matter  of  like  ephemeral  nature. 

G.  E.  W. 


431 


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